The One With The Renaissance Faire
by Jana
Summary: Semi AU - Rewritten from an older fic - Coauthored by: Exintaris - A trip to the renaissance faire triggers a strange dream for Monica. Mondler.
1. Chapter 1

**The One With The Renaissance Faire**

Original story by: Jana~

Rewrite by: Jana~

And: Exintaris

**Chapter One**

**XXX**

--"Guess what, guys!" Joey exclaimed as he bounded into Chandler and Monica's apartment, not waiting for their responses before continuing, "I got you all tickets for my new play!"

"Oh yeah?" Phoebe asked excitedly, giving Joey her full attention, "What's the play?"

"Macbeth!" Joey announced, his smile growing in response to Phoebe's obvious and genuine interest.

"Wow! Shakespeare?" Ross asked, sounding a cross between surprised and impressed, "That's great!"

"At the Renaissance Faire," Joey added, almost interrupting him.

Ross blinked in shock, silent for a moment, before asking, simply, "What?"

"It's a short version of it," Joey explained, oblivious to Ross' confusion, "They have little plays all over the Faire!"

"So, you got us tickets for – ?" Chandler asked, his sentence trailing off; he was fairly certain he knew the answer, but with Joey, one could never be sure.

"The faire!" Joey replied, nodding, eager to share not only his play, but the entire faire experience with his friends. "It'll be great! You'll love it!"

"Oh, it will be great!" Phoebe exclaimed, clearly much more excited than the others. "I loved that era! That was one of my best past lives!"

**XXX**

--Approaching the gate was like entering a whole new world. Or, better put, an old one. Patrons and participants alike donned attire reminiscent of earlier centuries, the men in everything from Scottish kilts to simple leggings and tunics, the women mostly wearing variations of layered, long flowing skirts, with blouse-like shirts and bodices that showed off far too much cleavage.

A wandering minstrel group was assembled nearby, entertaining those waiting for the official opening of the faire, singing songs that seemed more about getting drunk on ale and mead than anything else.

The sudden cannon blast, from an unseen cannon that was presumably just inside the gates and therefore out of sight, announced the start of the day; everyone startled, though many followed the loud noise with whoops and hollers of excitement and shouts of 'huzzah'.

Everyone was far too happy, in Rachel's opinion.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Rachel complained as they entered the faire, her to go cup of coffee from Central Perk not quite enough to make her happy about being there. "It's so dirty here."

"Yeah, dirty dirt," Chandler quipped, deadpan, "Imagine that."

"Guys, c'mon! We can do this," Phoebe insisted, almost scoldingly. "We'd go to this if it was at some fancy theatre!"

They all reluctantly agreed, grumbling various comments in unenthused tones, which clearly indicated just how much they were dreading the day ahead of them.

"Guys!" Joey called out from a slight distance, approaching fast and in full costume, "You made it!"

Struggling to suppress a laugh, Chandler teased, as he pointed at Joey's kilt, "Nice dress, man!"

"Dude, it's not a dress!" Joey corrected defensively, "It's a kilt! It's a manly Scottish kilt!"

Suddenly, without preface or warning, Phoebe reached under his kilt and cupped him.

Startled by not only the abruptness, but the action itself, Joey instinctively jumped back. "Whoa! Phoebe!! What the hell?"

Phoebe smiled wickedly. "Just wanted to see if it's true what Scots **don't** wear beneath their kilt."

"Well?" Monica asked, to which Phoebe just nodded and giggled.

Slowly, a quirky lopsided grin appeared on Joey's face, before he too nodded, in appreciation. "Yeah, baby!"

"Joey!" Ross snipped, clearly appalled, "You're going 'commando'?"

"What?" Joey asked, his tone defensive once again, "I'm a professional! They didn't have Fruit Of The Looms back during the Renaissance, so I don't wear them while I'm in character!"

"So, you've been in character for this role since I've known you?" Chandler quipped, his slight smirk dropping when Joey semi-glared over at him.

"Look," Ross announced, attempting to change the subject, "Let's get past Joey's state of undress, shall we? Where do we go from here, Joe?"

Joey snapped his fingers, suddenly remembering, "Oh! I got something for you guys! Come on!"

Leading them down the makeshift road a ways, which was lined with tents and small buildings that varied from fully functional to facades, Joey marched with purpose up to a little tent, then waved them all inside as he entered first. "This is Natalie," he told them, sidling up to the woman he obviously knew quite well by the way he put his arm around her. "Natalie, these are the friends I was telling you about!"

While they all cordially shook hands, Joey continued, "She's gonna set you up with costumes!"

Their return responses were far from approving, dampening Joey's mood slightly.

"What?" he asked with a somewhat sad, disappointed scowl, "It's fun!"

"Ok, sure," Monica soothed, placating him, "But do we have to wear costumes?" she asked.

"You don't have to," he answered with a dramatic pout, "But it's fun."

"I gotta say," Chandler retorted sarcastically, "Not my definition of fun!"

"C'mon, you guys!" Joey whined childishly, "Everybody does it! The whole place looks like a town from back then!"

"Well, I'm in!" Phoebe said easily, bringing the smile back to Joey's face. If it made him happy, what was the harm? Besides, it might actually be fun.

When Rachel agreed, the rest eventually caved.

**XXX**

--They each emerged from the changing tent at virtually the same time, all in very individualized costumes. They stood in silence as they glanced around at one another, it finally being broken when Monica's eyes landed on Chandler.

"Awww," Monica cooed playfully, "Look how cute you are!" Her following affection, in the form of a gentle hug, did little to cheer him.

"Yeah, cute," he muttered. "I look like the joker on a deck of cards!"

And in fact, he did. Half green, half deep purple, the top was almost like a dress, falling to mid thigh in jagged ends over a pair of bright green leggings, with a hat that had little bells at the ends of several points. It brought to mind the ridiculousness of the elf costume Joey wore, the Christmas he had the job as Santa's helper.

"Not joker," Phoebe corrected self-assuredly, "Jester."

"Whatever," he grumbled back.

"So, what are you, Pheebs?" Rachel asked with interest. She was obviously a bit more at ease with the new situation than she had been previously.

She was in head to toe magenta, though there were some warm browns thrown in as well, to break up the extreme of it. The low-cut, off-the-shoulder blouse had long wispy sleeves, which matched one of two skirts worn. The second skirt was cinched up in several places, so as to show off the one beneath it, and they all met together under a tightly bound corset. A sheer headscarf and thin rope belt with tiny bells and coins attached, that made a jingling sound when she moved, rounded off the ensemble.

"A gypsy!" she exclaimed happily, catching a glimpse of Natalie, the costumer, nodding in confirmation. "Although that's not what I was in that life. But still – neat, huh?"

Everyone nodded, humoring her for the most part.

"I think I'm supposed to be like royalty or something," Rachel said proudly, holding her deep green dress, lavishly covered with gold embroidery, out from her body in display. She almost looked as if she was set to curtsey. There was a matching headdress-style hat, but she opted out of wearing it.

"I think I'm supposed to be a wench," Monica added, with no attempt at enthusiasm. The coarse fabric of the dull brown skirt and bodice seemed far from noble, the long sleeved shirt, which showed far more cleavage than she was comfortable with, indicative of peasants. The hood she wore, which looked a lot like a hair net, was apparently called a snood.

Then they all turned to Ross, who looked like a reject from the Pirates of The Caribbean ride at Disneyland.

"Yes, yes," he said dully, "I'm a pirate." When they all started laughing, he huffed dramatically, then added, "But I refuse to wear the eye patch!" which just made everyone laugh harder. Scowling at them, he tapped the dagger in his belt, as if giving them a warning to stop, but they ignored him.

"Hey! You guys look great!" Joey exclaimed as he entered the tent. "Isn't this fun?"

Except for Phoebe and Rachel, the responses were not enthusiastic.

Anxious to move things along, Chandler asked, "So, what happens now?"

"Well," Joey answered with a hint of pride, "We get to hang at the faire till I'm up!"

"And, when are you up?" Monica asked warily, though Joey didn't detect the displeasure in her tone.

"I have performances at one and four," he answered. "The rest of the time, we can just hang out!"

"Like this?!" Ross asked as he gestured to his costume, clearly unhappy with the prospect of being seen in public for too long in his current attire.

Oblivious to most things, Ross' mood included, Joey answered excitedly, "Yeah!"

After a moment's pause, Ross sighed in resignation, then asked, "Is there beer here?"

A slightly confused scowl accompanied Joey's nod.

"Ok, then," Ross agreed.

**XXX**

--The juggler was actually quite impressive, but nature's call could be avoided no longer.

Discreetly, Rachel leaned in towards Joey, asking in a whisper, "Where are the bathrooms?"

His attention still on the juggler, he answered distractedly, "They're over by the ale booth. Those blue building thingies? Porta-potties."

"By the ale booth ... how appropriate," Chandler commented, having overheard them despite their quiet voices.

"Joey," Rachel groaned in complaint, "Those aren't bathrooms. Those are disgusting!"

Just as the juggler tipped his hat, set to move on, an obviously drunk man approached them. "Who is the owner of this fine wench?" he asked, slurring his words.

They all looked at each other for a moment, then at him with questioning expressions, before Chandler asked with a tone that mirrored his confused scowl, "What?"

"This fine wench!" the man nearly shouted, pointing at Monica, "Who owns her?"

Chandler looked to Monica briefly, then back to the man. "I guess that would be me."

Immediately in response, Monica smacked his arm lightly. "What?" she asked, her voice shrill. "You **own** me?"

Taken aback, Chandler could only stammer, no word coming out sounding anything like English.

"I will pay you twenty-five pounds for this fine fiery wench!" the man announced, virtually ignoring Monica's indignation.

"I'm not property, you freak!" Monica snapped, and the man finally saw her outrage through his inebriation.

"Hey, lady, chill, ok?" the man barked back defensively. "I'm just getting into character! They used to do that back in the **renaissance**! Get it? This is the **renaissance** **faire**?!"

"Avast, ye dog!" Ross shouted suddenly, making them all jump. "Do you take my sister for a whore?"

Startled into a more submissive stance, the man stammered simply, "H-huh?"

"This **wench**," Ross roared, advancing, "Is no drab, for sale to any man who makes an offer!" Fingering his dagger hilt, he added, "Just let me get these darned peace-strings undone, and I'll show you twenty-five pounds!"

Looking quite unnerved, the man blurted out, "Hey, hey! Take it easy, ok? I was just having some fun!" As he turned and staggered away hastily, he could be heard muttering, "Geez! Some guys… spoiling all the fun…"

There was a contemplative pause, before Phoebe exclaimed in praise, "Wow, Ross! That was awesome!"

Grinning, Chandler added, "For someone who didn't want to be a pirate, you sure slipped into character easily enough."

The adrenalin rush of the moment easing, Ross grinned back. "I decided to give him a taste of Red Ross. Besides," he added, "He was spouting complete bullshit, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Chandler asked, his confused scowl returning.

"Men didn't buy and sell women like that during the Renaissance," Ross explained authoritatively. "Though why this is called a Renaissance Faire, I just don't know," he added. "The clothes we've been given are far from historically accurate--"

"Never mind that," Monica interrupted impatiently, then asked, "You mean, women weren't property then?"

"No. Not really," Ross replied. "I mean, sure, a lot of men treated women like they were, when arranging marriages and such. For instance," he added, in the scholarly voice he adapted when teaching, "Dad would have decided who you were to marry, and Mom probably would have had a say, but **you** wouldn't have, unless he was feeling especially kind."

Stunned, Monica muttered softly, "I couldn't do that."

"Do what?" Rachel asked.

"Be treated like I was property!" she shot back, her frustration showing itself. "I just couldn't do it!"

"Well, when you don't have a choice…" Phoebe commented casually.

Trying to discern what the problem was, Chandler asked, "What are you getting so worked up about?"

"Nothing," Monica answered, shrugging, "It's just… it's degrading! I mean, it must have been degrading," she corrected herself anxiously. "To have no say… being handed over to someone who might mistreat you! To be in a loveless marriage…" She trailed off, sighing as the thought of it stewed inside her head.

"Well, sure, that time sucked in comparison to now, what with no TV and all," Joey interjected, typically missing the entire point.

"I'm sure a lot of the men were nice to the women they married like that," Rachel soothed, trying to ease her friend's distress. "They would get to choose the women they wanted to marry, wouldn't they?"

"But that's not the point!" Monica snapped. "There was still no choice for the women! She didn't get to say: 'No! I don't love you! Don't touch me!', ya'know?"

Chandler wrapped his arm around her and kissed her temple. "Mon, sweetie, relax, ok? Things were just different back then."

Seeing the expressions on her friends' faces brought to attention just how irrational she sounded. "Sorry, it's just … you know how most people have some **thing**, that's like a nightmare or whatever? And just the thought of that weirds you out?"

When they all eventually nodded, hesitantly, she continued.

"Ok, well, that's **my** thing. Being like a sex slave or something."

When Joey smiled in response to her last sentence, Monica scolded, "That's not a good thing!"

"It is if she's willing!" he countered.

"That's not being a sex slave!" Rachel corrected him sternly. "That's **playing** sex slave!"

"Can we move past this now?" Ross asked, annoyed by the direction the conversation was going in, then suggested, "Let's go get one of those great big turkey legs or something."

Never one to pass up an invitation to eat, Joey snapped his fingers in eager approval, then announced with growing excitement, "Yeah! Those are great! And right next door they have these little renaissance-style beef pies! Very authentic. Oh! And they have snowcones too!"

"Just like the knights used to enjoy before they went out to slay the dragon!" Chandler quipped, falling in line with the others as Joey led the way to the food court.

**XXX**

The food court consisted of several booths, all selling various wares, the employees in charge of each, dressed in full garb, singing the short menus alternatively with the others. There was a wandering vendor nearby, selling large dill pickles from a barrel, who offered bawdy but vague jokes about the phallic shape of them, whenever small children were not close enough to hear.

Monica and Phoebe both settled on the cream of broccoli soup in a bread bowl, and while Phoebe seemed to like it, Monica, being a chef, felt the recipe could do with a little improvement.

Ross and Rachel both chose the large turkey leg, Ross because they never had turkey except for at Thanksgiving, and therefore considered it a treat, Rachel because it seemed the least fattening of all the choices.

Joey talked Chandler into trying the beef pie, which was very tasty, but a bit on the small side, and not entirely filling. Chandler had made fun of Joey at first, when he ordered three of them, now he wished he'd ordered at least two.

What with his stomach growling, even Monica's soup was looking appealing, though he wasn't brave enough to actually try it. Deciding that there was no way soggy broccoli swimming around in some kind of cream was going to be anything but gross, he opted on ordering himself a second helping of beef pie instead.

"Hey, Mon?" he said as he leaned in towards her, "I'm gonna go get another one of those pies."

"Don't order me around!" Monica snapped at him. "I'm not your slave! Get it yourself!"

Shocked by her outburst, he stared back at her for a moment, then told her cautiously, "I wasn't ordering you. I said **I** was going to go get it."

"No you didn't," she argued, certain she was right. "You told **me** to go get it!"

"Um, Mon?" Phoebe chimed in, speaking in Chandler's defense, "No, he didn't. He said **he** was going to."

Realizing that the people at a nearby table were glancing over in curiosity, Chandler inched closer to Monica, draped his arm around her, and spoke much softer than before, hoping to encourage her to as well. "Honey, you just misheard me, is all."

Unwilling to be calmed, she shot back, "Don't patronize me!"

"I'm not patronizing you," he insisted with a heavy sigh, then offered astutely, "You're just… you're all caught up on what that guy said, and you're taking it out on me!"

A moment of clarity found her, causing her to shrink back from her combative stance. "I'm sorry," she apologized sheepishly. "You're right. It's just… it's a sore spot with me, ok?"

Nodding in acceptance, he asked, "How come I never knew that about you?"

"I don't know," she said with a shrug. "Maybe cause I never expected you to want to buy or sell me?" she added defensively.

"I would never want to sell you," he insisted, nuzzling against her neck. "I might wanna **buy** you," he joked, "If I had the opportunity."

His affection settling her slightly, she asked, "And, what would you do with me once you… purchased me?"

"I would lavish love and attention on you," he answered at once, reassuringly.

"Yeah, you say that," she teased, "But, if you were really in that time period, and you could do anything with your newly-purchased wench…" She dropped the sentence there, looking at him for a reaction.

"No no!" Ross interrupted, sounding irritated. "Weren't you listening? That guy was **way** off! I'm telling you, they just didn't buy and sell women like that in those days!"

"I don't think that's true," Phoebe said doubtfully, directing the comment at Ross. "I mean, I have this memory of being sold to this nobleman – he had the ugliest teeth, and he was just horrible in bed!"

Ross looked about ready to explode for a moment, but then after taking a couple of deep breaths, he seemed to calm down. "Ok, look," he said quietly, "I'm not gonna say it **never** happened. I think there were slaves in the eastern bits, that were conquered by the Turks, so it might've happened there, but **not** in civilized Christian countries! At around that time, I think, they started bringing in slaves from Africa, but they absolutely would **not** buy and sell their fellow countrywomen!"

On a roll, he all but ignored his friends' exasperated sighs as he continued, "People believe a lot of crap about slavery. They always focus on women for sale… kind of porny, really… but there were just as many male slaves in the ancient world! Probably more…"

"Ok, Ross, we get it," Rachel interrupted sharply. "We don't need a history lesson."

Ross stopped, looking chagrined.

"But, Ross, women back then weren't exactly free," Phoebe countered, her tone serious. "I mean, they were expected to obey their husbands and all that."

Raising an eyebrow at Phoebe's uncharacteristically shrewd observation, Ross replied, "Well, yeah, true, and when they married, their husbands got their property… in a Christian society, at least. But they still had rights, which slaves didn't. And I'm sure wives often got quite a lot of say in how things were run." He grinned at Monica, adding, "You can bet, if Mom had been around back then, she would've been running things just like she does now."

But Monica did not smile back. She was looking troubled again.

Sensing this, attempting to ease her misplaced concerns and worries, Chandler offered in a quiet voice, "I wouldn't abuse you, if that's what you were asking."

"It's true," Phoebe added cheerfully, then shared, with a confidence that indicated she truly believed what she was saying, "In his past life, he was just as sweet as he is now!"

Standing from the table, she patted Chandler on the head, collected her trash, then walked off in search of a receptacle.

**XXX**

--It was hard to watch, but even harder to look away from. Like a car accident on the freeway you can't help but stare at as you pass by at a crawl. Whoever thought it was a good idea, or even feasible, to condense Shakespeare in this manner, needed to be shackled and flogged.

"And I thought 'Freud!' was bad," Rachel whispered to Ross, who nodded in return.

"Don't worry," he whispered back, "It's almost over."

"How can you tell?" she asked.

Scoffing, he asked, "You never read this play in high school?"

"I was supposed to," she answered, adding without remorse, "But Monica did the report for me."

With a subtle groan of disapproval, he told her in a slightly condescending tone, "How you ever graduated high school is beyond me," which gained him a hissing 'shh' sound from the people sitting behind them.

They fell silent, sharing sighs and smirks of relief with the others when the play finally ended five minutes later. It was only a few minutes after that, after the audience of about twenty dispersed, that Joey came out from behind the makeshift stage, approaching with an excited stride to his step.

"Ok, guys, be honest," Joey asked of them as he neared, his face scrunched into an eager-to-know expression, "What did you think of the play?"

The group hemmed and hawed, glancing around at one another, trying to think of a tactful way to answer his question.

"Well, I liked it!" Rachel spoke up, deciding to avoid the truth.

"It was good," Chandler said firmly, "But I think you threw in too many 'th's."

"That's the way they talked back then!" Joey insisted. "They put a 'th' on the end of everything!"

Conceding his point, more for the sake of peace than because he believed what Joey had said, Chandler exclaimed, "Well, then, you did great!"

"Really great!" Monica mirrored supportively, then added with a touch of apprehension, "But, you sounded kinda, well, muffled."

"Oh," Joey explained easily, with a little wave of dismissal, "That was cause of the marbles."

"Marbles?" Ross asked, confused.

"What marbles?" Phoebe added, equally perplexed.

"I put three marbles in my mouth," Joey answered, "Cause it helps me to talk like they did back then!"

It was as if the words didn't make sense. They all just stared back at him in disbelief for several moments, until the worry lines creased his brow.

Deciding it might be better not to point out the obvious, that putting marbles in one's mouth would be more of a hindrance than a help, they all plastered smiles on their faces and offered such comments as, "Oh, I get it!" and, "That's a great idea, Joe!"

Cheered by their forced enthusiasm, though he was unaware it was so, Joey nodded emphatically, then exclaimed, "I know! And now I can put 'Shakespearean actor' on my résumé!"

**XXX**

--Chandler nodded right off to sleep, but Monica had some trouble. Her mind was still on what had happened at the faire. She didn't know why it bothered her so much, but the idea of being treated like property, to be used and abused… it just grated on her. If she believed in such things as Phoebe did, she might've thought she had been as good as sold to some horrible man in a past life.

After a lot of tossing and turning, she finally dozed off.

**XXX**

Jack and Judy Geller sounded upset to their daughter Monica. She couldn't really hear what was being said, but she could tell by their tone of voice. She knew they wouldn't want to involve her in the situation, whatever the situation was, so she tried to ignore them as she cooked. When their voices went quiet, they appeared a few minutes later.

"Daughter, I must speak with thee," Jack said softly.

Monica turned and gave him her full attention. "Aye, father?"

"We have great trouble, and only thou canst provide our salvation."

"Only me?" Monica was quite taken aback.

"Aye." Her father sighed. "My dear, my debt to Sir Charles Bing has grown, while our resources have shrunk. He is very pressing for payment, yet I can pay but little now. However, we have spoken, and he is willing to forego the whole debt – on one condition." He paused, swallowed, and looked at his wife helplessly.

Judith Geller sighed and nodded. "Thou knowest, Monica, dost thou not, that we wish a good marriage for thee? Here, beyond our expectation, is a fair chance of one."

"He wants me in exchange for the debt?" Monica cried. "But, but ... he is OLD, and, and" – she frowned as she tried to remember what she had heard of Sir Charles Bing, their rich new neighbour – "does he not have a wife still, even if she will not live with him?"

"Nay, nay, he does not want thee for his wife," said her father. "He wants thee for his son Chandler, who is but a year or two older than thee."

"But, but ... I have not even met the gentleman," Monica stammered.

Her father sighed and wiped a hand over his brow distractedly, while her mother made an impatient gesture.

"True," her father said. "When Sir Charles invited all the neighbourhood, soon after he bought Oldcastle Manor, we had so little money that we could not have made a proper show, and I made an excuse. But we heard good report of Chandler from the Greens."

"Aye," said her mother. "Thy friend Rachel said he was a fine young man."

Her father nodded. "She called him handsome, even." He sighed again. "Monica ... this is our only way. Sir Charles has insisted: the money, or thee for his son." He looked at her helplessly. "'Tis a fair offer, fairer than I deserve, methinks."

"Dost thou wish to see us turned out into the street, to go to our relatives for charity or beg our bread?" said her mother in a sharper tone. "Here is a great match, just such a one as I would have wanted for thee. Sir Charles Bing is a very rich man, and he has only the one son. In time, thou wilt be mistress of a great estate. What woman could hope for more?" She looked at Monica closely and sighed. "Are all these notions about love befuddling thy brain? Daughter, hear me. There can be love in marriage, even if it is not there at the beginning." She exchanged a look of affection with her husband. "Do but set thyself to please thy man, and he will love thee."

"Aye," said her father, with an air of hearty teasing that seemed false, "cook him one of thy beefsteak pies, and he will love thee for that alone."

As Monica still kept silent, her expression withdrawn, her mother made a sharp tutting noise. "All these years we have fed and dressed and sheltered thee, and thy father has indulged thee beyond what many fathers will do for their daughters. Some of the money he owes, he has spent on thee. Wilt thou show no gratitude, but throw this back in our faces?"

She was beginning to rant, and Monica knew she must stop it. None of them could withstand her mother's rants. Besides, there was some justice in what her mother said, and despite her rants Monica loved her, and her father too. There was only one thing to do.

"I will do it," she said in a low voice, striving to hold back her tears as she saw her hopes of a love match fade into a totally unattainable, fantastic dream.

Her mother rushed forward and threw arms around her, to hug her heartily. "There's my good girl!" she cried exultantly. "We shall have such a wedding for thee, shall we not, Jack? If the debt is cancelled, we shall have good credit again."

"Aye," said Jack Geller rather heavily, "we shall have credit."

**XXX**

"Monica, Rachel is here," called her mother up the stairs, at the same time as running feet on the stairs announced Rachel's swift approach. Panting and laughing, she burst into Monica's bedroom.

"Is it true?" she cried, running to hug her friend. "Thou art betrothed to the man we none of us could interest? How, how was this great victory won? What secret arts didst thou practise?"

Monica could not help but smile at Rachel's artless enthusiasm. "No arts," she said, as she moved her away to look seriously into her eyes, "and we are not yet betrothed in due form, but it will happen. My father and Sir Charles Bing have come to an agreement. How dost thou know of this?"

"Thy mother told mine, and she told me," Rachel said, "and I told my sisters." From her satisfied expression it was clear that she had relished doing this. "Amy would not believe it, for, centring her eyes always upon herself, she has not perceived how slim and beautiful thou hast become." She looked at Monica affectionately. "Was it thy charms that won him?"

"He is not won," said Monica sharply. "This match is none of my doing. I have not even met with him."

"Thou dost not want the match?" said Rachel, picking up on her tone.

Monica shook her head.

"Why, why?" Rachel cried in patent amazement.

Monica cocked her head. "Say thy father and his had made such an agreement: wouldst thou have been content?"

"Aye," Rachel cried at once. "'Tis a fine man. We spoke, as I told thee, that time Sir Charles kept open house, and we all went, but thy father would not."

"Truly, I had forgot," said Monica, nodding.

"I too, that thou knowest nothing of him," said Rachel. "Well, I can tell thee somewhat."

"So, what manner of man is he?" Monica asked, feeling natural curiosity, for this was the man she would marry.

Rachel frowned in thought. "He was ... courteous," she said slowly. "A true gentleman, his manners as good as if he was from the court in truth. No sweating squire, for ever talking of his horses and hawks and hounds, nor no braggardly coxcomb either, hinting at his deep drinking and midnight revels. But now I bethink me, he said not much."

"Aye, because thou didst never slacken in thy speech, I'll wager," said Monica teasingly. Having Rachel visit her was always good for her spirits.

Rachel giggled and nodded, unabashed.

"So, did he not admire thee?" Monica pursued.

"Aye, that he did," said Rachel proudly. "I could see it in his eyes: he had a greater liking to me than to Amy or Jill, the peevish brat, or any other maiden there. I will tell truth: I tried all I knew to engage his interest, and I believe his father would have smiled on it, but – " She shrugged. "Mine own father has spoken slightingly of the Bing family, saying that none knows aught to tell of Sir Charles's father, and mayhap he would frown on an alliance and think my dowry would be better bestowed elsewhere." She chuckled. "Truly, the Bings have no need of more money! But, Monica, think what will be ready to thy hand when thou dost marry Chandler! For Sir Charles may be purse-proud, but he is open-handed."

"I care not," said Monica sadly. "Rachel, in good sooth I am not eager for this match. But I must do it, for Sir Charles will accept me for his son's wife, in exchange for all that my father owes him."

Rachel nodded, looking serious. Then she became thoughtful. "It is strange indeed that he should want thee, when his son has no knowledge of thee." She pondered, then clapped her hands together in excitement. "I have it! Chandler has seen thee from afar and conceived a violent affection for thee!"

Monica could not help smiling a little at her friend's notion, but shook her head at her. "'Tis too romantic," she said. "Such things may happen in the plays of Master Shakespeare, but not in real life."

Rachel pouted. "Well, whatever lies behind it, this will be a far better match for thee than thy father could have found, I'll wager. A well-mannered handsome man, not much older than thyself, and like to be rich – why, Monica, how canst thou not wish for such a match?"

After a pause, Monica said in a stifled voice, "I do not love him."

Rachel tutted. "Tchah! Love! What is it, after all? We all speak of wanting it, and when we see some fine figure of a man we may conceive that we feel something, but it may all be fancy. But ... when man and woman are together ..." She paused, then looked Monica in the eyes. "I tell thee, if I had a fine man like Chandler Bing to dandle me on his knee and call me his sweeting, I should not find it hard to love him." She narrowed her eyes at Monica. "Thou knowest naught of these things, dost thou, lass? But I tell thee true, a man's arm around thy waist, and his lips to thy hand, thy wrist, thy neck, thy cheek, and most of all thy lips ... what that can make one feel will serve as love, for me."

Monica looked at her suspiciously. "And how dost thou know this, Rachel? Thou hast not been so rash as to ... dally with some servant of thy father's, some groom or stableboy?" Her voice was hesitant, for it was a shocking accusation, but she knew that Rachel was bolder than the average run of young women of good birth, and also that she was eager to learn the mysteries of love.

Rachel did not take offence, but shook her head, her eyes glinting with amusement. "I have dallied in truth, but not with one of those, nay. Rememberest thou, Sir Charles had music played? There was a young man there with an Italian name, who played the lute – not surpassing well, but he had looks to make up for it, warm brown eyes and smooth black hair." She giggled happily. "It was his eyes that won me. So, we contrived a little meeting, though we could not stay long." She giggled again. "But I learned enough of him to know, he had good skill in what he was at, that lutenist."

Monica could not help laughing, though she was also scandalised, but she had long ago learned that Rachel would not readily accept any criticism of her behaviour.

"So, Monica, much pleasure can be had with a young man of near thine age, if he has some affection to thee," Rachel continued, "and I tell thee in good sooth, thy charms are enough to inspire hot lust in any man. But such a man as Chandler will surely act towards thee with courtesy always; thou needst fear no violence."

"All that may be, yet 'tis a proverb oft-repeated, there is more to marriage than four bare legs in a bed," Monica observed drily.

"Why, so there is," said Rachel, "but, Monica, consider. Thou knowest, if we women are ever to cut a figure in the world, we must marry. Who would wish to be for ever at her mother's beck and call, declining to be an old maid, little more than a servant?"

Monica could not deny the truth of her friend's words. "If I knew something of him, of mine own knowledge, I would not fret so much, mayhap," she said. "But consider another old saw, that handsome is as handsome does. He may be fair outside, but who knows what lies within? Even a courteous manner can be assumed."

"'Tis true enough," said Rachel, though she sounded unconvinced. "But I have heard naught to his discredit, except" – she looked thoughtful – "'tis possible, he may be something of an heartbreaker. I heard that at one time he followed a London woman, one Janice Litman, but did break the connection because he liked not her ways, and again that he was passing fond of a wench named Katharine Brewster, but that too came to naught, and he was at fault there, belike."

Monica could not resist grabbing her friend's shoulders and giving her a little shake, grinning at her. "How is it that thou hast always some gossip at thy fingertips, that is readily to the purpose? So, by what thou sayest, he has some liking to women, at least."

"Indeed," said Rachel. "He is no cold fish, I'll wager. I told thee, he looked on me warmly and seemed to take pleasure in my company. But, but ..." – she paused a moment in thought – "'twas as if he was searching for something, and could not find it in me."

"Well," said Monica, feeling slightly heartened. "I will meet him at the betrothal. Then I can try him out myself."

**XXX**

Monica could not help feeling a certain excitement as she and her parents approached the mansion that in her childhood had been that of the Oldcastle family, but was now owned by Sir Charles Bing, though he kept its name. She would see it in its new glory, the worn and scarred panelling and faded and tattered hangings now all replaced, so Rachel had told her. More, she would see her husband-to-be. After her talk with Rachel, she had begun to feel that perhaps being given in marriage to Chandler Bing need not be such a terrible fate, and had willingly allowed her mother to trick her out in what finery they possessed with some feeling of anticipation.

They were met at the door by a stately steward, who took them through the now somewhat diminished hall to a separate withdrawing room, lined with fine oak panelling, where the centrepiece was a large table in the latest and most ornate style. On it stood a service of silver vessels, bottles of foreign wine, plates laden with tasty dishes, cakes and sweetmeats, enough to marvel at, while all around the walls stood well-carved chairs in the wainscoted style. There was no one else in the room. While her father and mother exchanged comments, at once admiring and jealous, on the table display, Monica wandered around the room, looking more closely at the chairs and the carved ornament on the panelling. Thus, she was near the door and well placed to hear Sir Charles's voice, raised in wrath.

"I have given thee time enough, sirrah!" he was saying, almost shouting. "Thou wouldst not have Janice, for a saucy hoyden – well! Thou hadst a good liking to Katharine, but some cause of offence arose – well! Thou couldst not feel enough for that flighty Rachel Green – aye, we were best out of that, mayhap. Fair though she be, methinks she has a wandering eye. But now it comes to it: this one thou shalt marry, and by doing so repay all that I have bestowed on thee, and all the pains that I have taken to have thee trained up to be as good as any man that walketh in the Queen's court. I shall not live for ever, and I want assurance ere I die that the wealth I toiled so hard to win, and my father before me, shall go to an heir of my body!"

"And if I will not?" Monica heard a much quieter but also angered voice say.

"Then I shall turn thee out to make thine own way in the world, with but a bare sufficiency to keep thee from starving," snapped Sir Charles. "And mayhap I shall consider whether we have some poor but more deserving kinsman to be mine heir. And all shall marvel at thee for a fool, who crossed his father in this matter. For by all accounts the maid is most fair and ripe for marriage, well skilled in all the arts of the household, cookery above all, and as meekly disposed as maids are like to be in these days. What more wouldst thou?"

"Sir Charles, have patience, I pray you," came a third voice, that she thought might be their parson, Master Hawes, and then another joined in and she could hear no more, but she realised that the voices were drawing nearer and moved away from the door, flushing with mortification. So Chandler Bing had no wish to marry her, or anyone else, but was being forced into it by his father with the threat of disinheritance. This did not offer much of a prospect for a good marriage.

It was evident that her parents had heard some of Sir Charles's rant. Her mother moved to her side, her expression unusually sympathetic, and pressed her hand.

"Do but have patience, daughter," she murmured. "More men are brought to wed by their parents' urging than their own will, yet find themselves well contented when the thing is done, and why should not Master Bing be likewise? He can find no fault in thee ..." She paused, and for a moment Monica could swear she heard her grind her teeth. "Sir Charles has it right," her mother resumed. "I have chidden thee oft enough, but I know in mine heart, thou wilt prove an excellent wife."

"Oh mother!" Monica cried, overcome for a moment by this evidence of her mother's underlying love for her. She threw her arms round her and hugged her fiercely.

"Nay, fear not, Mistress Monica," came the voice of Master Hawes, in a soothing tone. "'Tis natural for young birds to fear leaving the nest, but it is their destiny to fly forth."

He had clearly mistaken the meaning of what he saw, and thought that Monica had a reluctance to leave her parents. Well, so she did, but not for the reason Master Hawes imagined, fear of leaving her home. Rather, she shrank from marriage to a man that did not want to marry.

But she turned to face them with as composed an expression as she could manage. Sir Charles was still red in the face with anger, while his son, who was indeed handsome, was pale. With them were Master Hawes and a soberly dressed man who she guessed must be some kind of lawyer. Chandler Bing seemed to give a start when he saw her, and his expression changed for a moment, before he put on a smooth expression. She could swear that the expression she had caught on his face was dismay.

"See, son, what a fine maid is this," said Sir Charles in a much quieter voice, smiling as he looked Monica over. "By my troth, you are most welcome to this house, Master Geller and Mistress Geller, and most of all Mistress Monica." He nudged his son. "Give them a courtly welcome, son."

Chandler Bing seemed almost to grimace, before bidding them welcome in the most flowery terms. Her father used much plainer language to thank him for his welcome and Sir Charles for the invitation, while her mother and she curtseyed.

"Now, son," said Sir Charles in hearty tones, as a group of serving men entered, led by the steward, "why dost thou not see to it that Mistress Monica is served good refreshment, and draw aside with her, that you may learn a little of each other, while Master Geller and I do read over the terms of this betrothal contract that my attorney Master Biggs has drawn up for us."

Monica allowed herself to be ceremoniously served a few dainties on a plate and a goblet of wine, and withdrew to the other end of the room from the group around Sir Charles. In a minute Chandler Bing followed. His face was grave, but he tried to smile at her. She did not smile back.

"You may find this hard to credit, Mistress Monica, but I know a little of you," he said, "from your friend Mistress Rachel Green."

"That I can well believe, sir," she said drily. "For since Rachel began to talk she has seldom paused, except to sleep."

He gave a little crack of laughter, but she kept her face stern. That was being too friendly, she decided. She was resolved to show this man who did not want her the politeness that he was due, and after they married her obedience, but nothing more.

He seemed a little disconcerted by her severe demeanour. "Is there aught I can tell you of myself, perchance?" he said, stammering a little.

"We shall have a lifetime to learn about each other at leisure, sir," she said coolly.

He ran a hand through his hair as if distracted. "Mistress Monica, this was no plan of mine – " he said in a lower voice.

"I know that full well, sir," she replied, still in as cool and even a voice as she could manage.

Before he could make a further attempt to converse, they were called to the table, to hear the terms of the betrothal contract read over by Biggs the attorney. She noted that her father was not expected to provide a dowry, but that it was agreed that her family would provide what they could by way of a bride's trousseau. She knew that her mother had bed linen and other household stuff tucked away in a drawer somewhere. Almost before she knew it, she was being asked for her consent, and after a moment's pause she gave it in a low firm voice. Then Chandler was asked, and the pause seemed longer, but he too consented firmly enough. Then a small box was handed to him by the steward, who had stayed when the other servants withdrew, and he opened it to take out a ring. Advancing towards Monica, he held it out.

"I give thee this ring in earnest of my settled intent to marry thee and prove a good and faithful husband," he said, his voice shaking a little.

"And I accept it, and promise to be a dutiful and obedient wife," she replied gravely, and let him put the ring on her finger.

Master Hawes clapped his hands together in an expression of pleasure. Sir Charles beamed and drew Monica to him to kiss her on the cheek, with words of welcome to his family. Her parents hugged her, her mother shedding a few tears, then turned to Chandler and embraced him formally too. Finally she and Chandler embraced, but formally again; he seemed almost scared to hold her too close, and his kiss to her cheek was barely more than a touch.

And then the thing was done: she and Chandler were now bound together in the eyes of God and man, and, as shortly became clear, would marry the Sunday after next. Sir Charles and her mother at once began discussing arrangements vigorously, and she listened, feeling in a daze. This was her wedding they were discussing, but it did not feel like it. Glancing aside at Chandler, she saw that his expression was bewildered, almost hurt, and for a moment her heart softened. But when he felt her gaze, turned, and produced a tentative smile, she simply inclined her head, keeping her face grave as before and turning away quickly.

The days that followed were full of preparations, during which her mother was for ever going up to the mansion, or sending a messenger, to discuss details with Sir Charles. She herself was not required to do anything except allow herself to be used like a dressmaker's model. Her mother did not seem to notice any lack of enthusiasm on her part, but sometimes she caught her father looking at her with a worried expression. Rachel as maid of honour was in and out of the house, as excited as her mother, and she also did not give the appearance of noticing that there was anything wrong. But as the day drew near Monica noticed that Rachel was beginning to look at her suspiciously, and finally, one afternoon when they were in Monica's bedroom, Rachel spoke.

"Art thou still so uneager for the match, now that thou hast met Chandler?" she asked.

Faced with it so bluntly, Monica found it hard to reply at first, and finally she blurted out, "He does not want me."

Rachel looked shocked. "How canst thou know that?"

Monica first told what she had overheard.

"But, thou goose," Rachel said, sounding relieved, "that says only that he had no wish to wed at all, not that he would not wed _thee_."

"When he first saw me, methought he liked me not," Monica said. "He gave a start, and seemed dismayed."

"Pshaw!" Rachel snorted in disbelief. "I will not believe it. Did you two not speak together, at the betrothal? Was he not courteous?"

Monica sighed. "Aye, that he was, I cannot deny it. He would smile at me then, and later. But all this may be feigned, especially by one trained in courtly ways."

Rachel shook her head at her. "This is some freak that thou hast taken into thy head," she said severely. "Thou canst not be so sure that thou hast truly read his mind." She took Monica's hand, squeezed it, and said in a softer voice, "How could any man disdain thee? Nay, Monica, be ruled by me: forget this, this fantasy, and trust in thyself. Do but show him kindness, and I'll wager he will be happy to return it tenfold. Hast thou not seen this with thy father? Men are mostly simple creatures, and can readily be brought to thy will by a proper show of affection."

Monica had indeed often seen her mother get her father to do what she wanted, and she had got round him herself, by timely attention and displays of affection and respect. She nodded and told Rachel that she would surely take what she had said to heart, although in her heart she felt that it went against the grain to think of behaving in such a way with Chandler Bing. Rachel did not look fully convinced, but said no more.

**XXX**

Monica's wedding was splendid enough to meet all the wishes of her mother and of Rachel too. The church was decked out with flowers and greenery, and all the major participants were splendidly dressed, including Rachel, who had somehow made herself appear indispensable both to the Gellers and Sir Charles Bing and had acquired a very fine gown, worn with a new necklace and earrings given to her by her doting father. Her overwhelming enthusiasm for every part of the ceremony and the feast afterwards were such as to draw most people's attention away from Monica's own quietness. But Monica was aware that not only Chandler but her mother glanced at her from time to time with an expression of unease. Sir Charles, however, showed no uneasiness at all, but commended Monica for her maidenly modesty in a speech so rambling that her attention drifted, and was only brought back to the present when she heard loud gasps and exclamations. Plainly he had said something important.

"It is my hope," he was saying, "that in this way my son will learn what is needful in the management of an estate, so that when in time he doth inherit from me, he will be able to play his part among you as a gentleman ought. And it will be good for the young folk, will it not, to have only their own company, away from their elders' eyes, however loving?"

The way he spoke this last comment made his meaning abundantly clear, and there was a rumble of laughter from the men and a titter from many of the women.

"What luck for you!" Rachel whispered. She turned, to see her regarding her seriously. "Alack, I cannot expect so much when I come to marry."

Monica had grasped the essence of what was going on. Sir Charles had evidently settled an estate on Chandler. But where was this estate, she wondered, and berated herself for not paying closer attention.

"I missed the name," she hissed back. "Where is this estate?"

Rachel looked rather unhappy. "Up in Hertfordshire, near to some town called Rickmansworth, many miles from here. I fear we shall not see much of each other."

Monica felt such a sudden pang of grief that tears started to her eyes. She had been counting on Rachel's companionship and advice in the difficult days to come, when she must train herself to be a wife.

Rachel felt for her hands and gripped them. "Be brave, my Monica," she said in a low voice. "I know, thou art braver far than I. And 'twill not be for ever," her face brightened, "for surely Chandler will bring thee south at times of festival, when families meet together. No doubt Sir Charles will want accounts of his stewardship of this estate, too. He seems a man to keep all that is his under his eye, and although this estate be given to Chandler, Sir Charles will consider it his concern still."

Monica nodded, unable to speak for fear she would truly burst into tears. What Rachel said was true enough, but it would be months before there might be occasion for such a meeting. In addition to starting a new life as a married woman, she was going to leave behind everything that was familiar. To give herself heart, she seized her goblet and drank half of what was in it. Lowering the goblet, she saw Rachel smiling at her.

"A little wine will do no harm," she said in a knowing way. "'Twill help to give thee warmth, until Chandler can come to thee, and then shalt thou have warmth a more natural way." She winked.

Monica could not help it; the blood drained from her face at the very thought of lying with Chandler. Rachel noticed, and shook her head at her.

"Never fear, lass," she said. "He will treat thee gently, I am sure of it. See how little he drinks." She giggled. "I'll wager he is as nervous as thou art."

Indeed, Chandler did look ill at ease, seldom glancing Monica's way. Obscurely heartened by this, Monica set herself to try to enjoy the remainder of the feast and hide her deep misgivings from Rachel, her parents and her brother, who had come all the way from Cambridge with his wife Carol to be at the wedding.

When, finally, she was seen to what was to be the bridal chamber that night by her mother, Rachel and a crowd of neighbours' wives and daughters, she realised that she had drunk a little too deeply, for her head was swimming, and she collapsed on the bed with a sigh of relief. Exclaiming in affectionate reproof, her mother organised her disrobing and dressing in a nightgown, with her hair let down. When Monica was sitting up in the bed, her upper body leaned against the headpiece, her mother looked her over and nodded with satisfaction.

"If the sight of thee do not kindle his proper affection, he is no natural man," she said. "Well, daughter, I will see thee tomorrow, no doubt, before thou departest for Hertfordshire."

She hugged and kissed her, followed by Rachel and others, and then they left, but only as far as the doorway, where they stood talking, of matters such as marriage beds and first nights, to judge from their laughter, until a noise of cheering announced that the groom was being brought to them. To Monica's intense relief, once Chandler had entered the room the door was shut behind him and the whole party disappeared, with further laughter and broad joking. She had heard of some weddings where the unfortunate couple were serenaded with bawdy rhymes by the younger guests as a supposed encouragement.

Looking at him, Monica could well believe that Chandler was nervous. He seemed pale and was clearly sweating, for he wiped his forehead. Suddenly he began to speak, hurriedly and in a low voice.

"Mistress Monica – my lady," he began, "I must tell thee something. My father, for all his outward show, doth much mistrust me in this marriage, and he has required therefore" – he swallowed, and began to stammer – "that we do show him t-tokens that, that the deed is done, on the morrow."

Monica sat up straight in astonished anger. Bad enough that she should have to give her virginity to a man she did not love, but this! Chandler held out his hands in a placating gesture.

"I know, this cannot but seem in the highest degree distasteful to thee," he said, "but I have a plan."

She held in the furious words she was about to utter. "Tell me of this plan, sir."

"We must make the sheets seem well-used," he said, "and, and if we place a little blood ... where it might fall ..." Seeming to become more and more nervous, he stopped and stared at her beseechingly.

Here was a strange turn, she thought, but it gave more evidence that he did not want her. She found that, although relieved, she could not help also feeling rather disappointed, with her mother's words in mind. Did he really find her so unappealing?

He was looking at her anxiously. She nodded her head slowly. "A good plan," she said. "Do you know aught of how a bed should look, when a man and woman have been in it?"

He flushed. "Aye, somewhat," he said in a low voice.

"Then let us do that," she said, but before she could even get out of the bed she was overtaken by a jaw-cracking yawn.

He seemed to relax, even grinning a little. "Thou art tired," he said, "and shouldst sleep now. Indeed, it were best we did this after we have slept. But we must be up early, to get it done."

"I am used to waking early," she said, "and so, good night, sir."

"Good night, Mistress Monica," he said, smiling at her. She came very close to smiling back.

**To be continued**

Author's note:

I wrote this story originally back in 2002, and while I always liked the concept, because of my writing abilities at the time it was quite subpar. It was severely lacking in description and 'scenery', and then I attempted to use 'old English'… (sigh) That did **not** work out. As Exintaris told me: "Your reversal of sentences sounds like the Star Wars character, Yoda."

LOL!

Anyway… that wasn't his only problem with the story. Apparently, it was also grossly inaccurate, historically speaking. He was so passionate about this that I pulled the story (from my personal webpage – it was never on the fanfiction site), which prompted further conversations, all leading to the idea of rewriting it. We hammered out an alternative plot, and have worked closely together on all areas of the story, to bring you all a fic that will, hopefully, be far more enjoyable to read than the original.

And Exintaris wants to emphasise that he has had a blast working on it. (Direct quote from him.)

You'll probably notice the differences in style, since Exintaris and I have vastly different ones, and the differences in the spelling of certain words (British/American). We discussed 'harmonizing' the text, but ultimately decided that we should leave each other's writing styles and spelling alone, with minimal exceptions. Personally, I think the contrasts work well for this fic, as we jump from modern day America to an older century England in dream. I think our differences in style and country of origin enhance the end product. Hopefully, you'll agree.

This fic will be in two chapters, so only one more after this one, but I also wrote a sequel/extension, back in 2002 (which I also pulled, since it too was subpar and full of historical inaccuracies), that Exintaris and I will be working on together to fix as well. But, with life happening and other commitments, this might take a few months to get to.

I also wanted to make a quick mention… I have added videos to my personal webpage. Due to copyright infringement issues, YouTube has pulled or muted over thirty of my videos, so in answer to this problem, I have found a 'storage site' I can upload the videos to, then link to them directly. So, that is what I have done. Videos include 'Friends' seasons tributes to Mondler, Mondler music video tributes, Matthew Perry early sitcom appearances, 'Studio 60'/Matt Albie tributes, me and my daughter singing karaoke, family videos, and much much more! There is also a video under the family videos heading, that shows what renaissance faires are like, if you're interested, or have no clue what that 'scene' is all about.

If you're reading this on the fanfiction site, click on my name, and when viewing my profile, click on my homepage link. It's self explanatory from there. If you're reading this on my personal webpage, ignore all that. (smile)

As always, please review! And MTLBYAKY


	2. Chapter 2

**The One With The Renaissance Faire**

Original story by: Jana~

Rewrite by: Jana~

And: Exintaris

Brief author's note:

While he followed the original premise as much as could be, and I worked closely with him on the elements within, the written content in this chapter is solely by Exintaris.

More notes at the end, per as usual.

**XX**

**Chapter Two**

**XXX**

A month later, Monica was in her kitchen, hovering over a rich broth that she was preparing for the midday meal, but with her mind only partly on this. Mostly, she was thinking about Chandler, and all the experiences they had shared since their wedding.

She could not refrain from smiling as she remembered how, on the morning after their wedding night, they had conspired together like a pair of naughty children to make it seem as if they had indeed consummated their marriage. Each rolled around in the bed with most of their clothing removed, to get their odours and sweat into the sheets. Chandler made a little cut on his arm to spill blood on the undersheet, and at his suggestion both removed a hair or two and left them in the bedding – she even, without his knowledge, removed a hair from her most intimate place, to add further to the deceit. She was much struck by the enthusiasm with which he approached this and the naturalness of his smiles, and began to wonder if she had been mistaken in him.

By the time they were done she was eager to wash, and he went out to summon maids. She was taken to another room to perform her toilet and dress, and so was not present when Sir Charles arrived to view the "tokens", but she soon realised, from a somewhat broad remark that he made over their breakfast, nudging his son in the ribs, that he had indeed been completely fooled. And, then, before too long, the last of their possessions were packed up and they set off in a well-loaded wagon to travel to Chandler's estate. It was hard to bid farewell to her parents and Rachel, and she shed tears, but this in a way was a help, because it meant that her mother and Rachel were concerned with trying to console her, and failed to ask questions about the wedding night that Rachel at least might have asked.

It took them the best part of three days to get to the Rickmansworth neighbourhood, but Sir Charles's servants took good care of them and they stayed in respectable inns along the route, and the whole thing took on something of the air of an adventure for her. She found it possible to push away her sadness at leaving her childhood home in Elmbridge and everything she knew, by taking an interest in all the new things to be seen and heard. Chandler seemed less easy around her than he had been when they were arranging their deception, and at first they did not exchange much conversation, but as the first day wore on they began to talk more often. And then came the night, and she was weary with travelling all day and ready for sleep, and he made no approach to her, and even turned his head the other way when she made ready for bed. In a way she was relieved, but the following morning she could not help feeling some disappointment, just as she had on their wedding night. Was he truly not interested in her?

The following night, when she was less weary, the same thing happened, and she began to feel convinced that, though he treated her with unfailing politeness, even a degree of friendliness, he did not want her. She wondered if his mind was fixed on some other woman. If so, why could he not have withstood his father, told him of his secret passion, and refused to marry Monica? Of course, that would have put her parents and herself in a very difficult position; but at least she would not be trapped in this marriage that was not merely loveless, but no marriage at all. The following morning she felt resentful, and answered Chandler shortly when he spoke to her, though she was careful always to sound dutiful.

And then they reached the estate, and both found plenty to occupy them. The house was not exactly in a ruinous state, but very rundown, with only an ageing steward, Giles Hawthorn, and his wife Nan to look after it. The first thing that Chandler applied himself to, with the aid of Rob Wilkins, a member of the Bing household who was to take over as steward, was to find skilled craftsmen to work on the repair and refurbishment of the house, as well as to hire labourers to farm the land, which had been much neglected.

So from the start Chandler was away from the house for most of every day but Sundays, but Monica did not have time to miss him, for she found herself working from dawn to dusk to set the house straight, cleaning out the rooms, unpacking and arranging all their possessions, and getting in supplies of every kind. At first she only had Nan to help her, but soon girls were got in from the nearby village to work during the day. On the advice of Rob Wilkins, she let it be known that in time she would be hiring live-in maids, but that she wanted to see how they worked first. This produced amazing diligence on the part of all the girls except one incurable daydreamer, whom she soon ceased to hire.

She found it necessary to make so many purchases that she was spending money at what seemed to her an amazing rate, far in excess of what she remembered her parents ever doing. But Chandler simply gave her whatever she needed, without any cautioning or comment on a need for frugality. Rather, he clearly took pleasure in the enthusiasm she was showing in her new role. For once she had settled in a little and had the beginnings of a system organised, she found it exhilarating to be mistress of a household and not merely her mother's assistant. And she soon realised that Chandler felt the same way about being master of an estate. He threw himself into the work with admirable eagerness, a world away from the resigned, weary air that the burden of constant debt had caused in her father. She suspected that Chandler had been bored with the idle life of a town gentleman, and in this respect his father had certainly done well for him, seeing that he needed occupation. If only he had not felt it necessary to see him married as well!

Their excitement in their new roles, and her need to discuss many things and get Chandler's approval of her decisions, meant that her resolution only to speak to him as much as was absolutely necessary was soon abandoned. For she quickly found out that he did not like silences and would fill them with talk. At the noon meal this was mostly between him and Rob, unless she had some matter that required his urgent attention, but in the evenings they would go to eat in a little dining room rather than in the kitchen, where Rob would stay with Giles and Nan, so that it was just the two of them together.

Chandler showed a need to tell her of all his activities, and also seemed to take great interest in all that she was doing. Their talk together became easier and more relaxed day by day, and they moved from discussion of work completed, in train, or needing to be done as soon as possible, to more general talk of plans for the future. Chandler also began to describe to her the people he was beginning to encounter in the neighbourhood, not merely his labourers, but the big farmers and even one or two of the local gentry, that he met in the village tavern on occasions when he and his men were taking a noon break from the endless work. She found that he had a way of producing droll little comments on people and situations that made her hide a smile more than once, and one evening she could not help bursting out laughing at his imitation of a local squire who had clearly had more ale than was good for him.

He paused in what he was saying, as if surprised, and gave her a little smile. "I have not heard thee laugh before, my lady wife," he said quietly. "Would it be too much, if I asked that thou do it more often?"

She was slightly taken aback by the sudden seriousness of his voice, and did not answer for a moment. But he seemed tense, and his look was almost beseeching, which aroused sympathy in her. Whatever other feelings he might have, he was doing his best to treat her well, and it seemed little enough to show more friendliness in return, as was more natural to her.

"No, sir, it would not be too much," she said, and smiled at him openly.

His smile grew. "And ... might I ask that thou call me not sir?" he added. "It makes me feel like someone of our fathers' age." He pulled a face in an attempt to make himself look like a much older man.

She came close to giggling. "Very well, husband," she said in a slightly teasing manner. "I am bound to obey you in all things."

It was said lightly, but for a moment he seemed to frown, before picking up the thread of what he had been saying again. She found this puzzling, but let it pass, for she felt that his talk of their neighbours was more important. These were the people she must get to know now, in her new home.

By the time they went to bed, she had almost forgotten that strange little moment and was feeling more at ease with him than she ever had. He also seemed at ease with her, but when they began to disrobe for bed he seemed to retreat into polite but distant courtesy again, and although he bade her good night pleasantly enough he gave absolutely no suggestion of interest in doing anything but going to sleep.

It took her quite a while to get to sleep herself, for this change in him, when she had thought that they were beginning to become closer, dismayed her. Why was he seemingly so reluctant to approach her? It could not be that he was uninterested in women; she had plenty of evidence to the contrary, from Rachel's gossip and what she had overheard Sir Charles saying, and his own comment about knowing something of how a bed shared by a man and woman should look. And she was beginning to find it hard to credit that he was pining for some secret love. Eventually she fell asleep while still puzzling over it in her mind.

From that evening they fell into a pattern of even more relaxed talk, especially over dinner, and she began to feel herself really at ease with him – that is, until the time for bed came, when he would retreat again into polite formality with her. She found it not merely puzzling, but increasingly frustrating. For she recognised that she found much to admire in him, and that there were times when she almost felt drawn to him, as a woman might be to a man. But although he seemed happy to talk with her easily and make his little observations and jokes, and was clearly pleased when she found them funny, and even more if she made some mildly admiring comment on how hard he was working, and how well things seemed to be going, he seemed almost to shy away from anything that might suggest a closer affection, something more like what she had observed between her parents.

And this was where her mind had brought her now, as she stirred the broth. Could it be, she wondered, that the estrangement between his parents meant that he had no pattern of how a husband should treat his wife, and simply did not know how to behave towards her? Maybe he was shy for that reason. But, if that were so, she had to confess herself at a loss. She had never been in a position of wanting to encourage a young man who seemed shy. The sons of their neighbours, when they had come to visit, had shown no shyness, but rather the opposite, making clumsily overfamiliar overtures, almost as if they felt an obligation to do so but could not forget times when they had played together as children.

Moreover, she thought, if she were to make any kind of open advance to him, it might disturb him and make him retreat into formality all the time. She would lose this pleasant closeness, almost like that between a brother and sister, and she did not want to lose that, for it undoubtedly added a flavour to her life. But for how long could they go on like this? In a moment of sudden despair, she clutched her head, only to realise she had dropped her stirring spoon into the broth. Muttering a mild curse, she fished it out just in time before Chandler arrived with the men, who sounded rather boisterous.

"Ah, that smells a right good broth, mistress," said one of the older workmen, Abel Longrigg.

This simple praise relaxed her, and she poured out the first mugsful of soup with a will, and took them to Chandler and Rob herself, for Nan and the maids had still not come downstairs from their work. At once she recognised the reason for their boisterousness: a smell of ale hung about them.

"So, you passed some time in the tavern?" she asked a little sharply as she filled more mugs. But before she could get a reply Nan and the maids came in and took over serving the broth. She took her own mug and sat down next to Chandler.

He looked at her with a slight air of guilt."'Tis true, we had two rounds," he said, "but the men have earned it, for they have all worked hard and well these last days."

"Aye, that they have, Mistress Monica," said Rob in an approving tone, "and Master Chandler as hard as any."

"I am pleased to hear it," she said in a slightly severe tone, then, seeing that Chandler seemed crestfallen, she impulsively reached out and put her hand on his arm, saying in a softer tone, "I rejoice that things go according to your plans."

His arm seemed to jump under her hand and he looked at her in startlement. She hastily pulled it back again, as surprised by her act as he seemed to be. Then a great burst of laughter from behind them, where the labourers stood with the maids, all of them well-known to each other since they came from the same village, distracted everybody. When it was explained it seemed no great matter, some tale of what Goody Hartsop had said to Mistress Archer, which you had to know all the history of the village for the last twenty years to appreciate, or so it seemed.

The moment passed, but she could not forget it. That evening she did not feel as easy with him as she had come to be, and he too seemed tense. They went to bed early, when he claimed to be tired, but she lay awake some time, unable to control the thoughts whirling through her mind. Had he been excited, surprised, or disturbed by her touch? And what about her own feeling of excitement at touching his strong, muscular arm? For a while she was near to tears as she tried in vain to reach some clarity in her thinking. She also had to suppress feelings of resentment as he slept deeply, apparently untroubled. When she did finally sleep, it was broken in the middle of the night by a dream that she did not recall well, but she was sure that it involved feeling a body against hers and left her feeling flushed and tingly in her most intimate places.

The next morning she still felt ill at ease, and Chandler acted more formally than he had been doing. That evening he seemed back to his old chattering self, which she welcomed, but when they went to bed nothing had changed, and so it continued over the next days. She could not see a way to break the pattern, and it began to unsettle her more and more. For it was becoming clear to her that she now knew him well enough, and felt close enough to him, that she could imagine accepting an approach, and there were times when she could almost think of inviting one. But at the same time she shrank from allowing herself to feel too much for him, for then, she knew, she might be in danger of giving her heart where there would be no return. But it was becoming harder and harder to lie awake beside him as he slumbered peacefully, unable to stop thinking about their situation and not daring to touch him as she was beginning to want to do.

She envied him his ability to sleep, while knowing that it came partly from the hard physical labour that he was engaged in nearly every day. After the first weeks, things had settled down in the house, and she now had a routine which kept her fairly busy but did not leave her as ready for sleep as she had been at first. And when she did sleep, she was often troubled by dreams, some of which clearly reflected her worries. She might dream of his offering to kiss her, or even of herself embracing him and asking for a kiss. But neither dream reached the kiss, though sometimes when it was her wanting the kiss this would be because he rejected her with a shocked expression. Dreams of a body against hers, even of arms around her, also occurred sometimes. However it developed, she would awaken with a gasp, her heart beating wildly, and feel a strong sense of frustration or, if Chandler had rejected her in the dream, of sadness, and always it took her quite a while to relax into sleep again.

Her sleep was interrupted often enough in this way to begin to affect her during the day, and she began to have black moods, when she wondered if things could ever improve. Sometimes she found it hard to be cheerful with the men when they came in for their noon meal, and even harder to be easy and attentive with Chandler in the evening. She even had little bursts of temper in the kitchen, which caused Nan and the maids to give her worried looks, though she always apologised and explained that she was not sleeping well. At this some of the maids would smirk and give each other knowing glances, even mutter behind their hands. But Nan would always snap at anyone she caught doing this.

Then one evening Chandler paused in his talk, and looked at her searchingly.

"Does some worry beset thee, my lady?" he said. "Thou hast not seemed so cheerful of late."

"'Tis nothing," she said, glad to have an opportunity to mention it. "Sometimes I have dreams that wake me in the middle of the night, and I find it hard to sleep again."

He made a sympathetic face. "Well, that at least is not of my doing."

Instead of saying, as she was tempted to do, that it might very well be, she found the wit to ask why he had thought that he might be responsible for her lack of cheer.

"Oh, I began to fear that my talking and joking was boring thee," he said half-seriously. "I like to be merry," he went on, as if confessing a fault, "but my father did not feel it ... appropriate for the position that we had achieved, in his eyes."

"I like to hear merriment," she replied. "But in recent years, we had such cares in the house ..." She paused, not sure how to go on, for of course their debts, especially to Sir Charles Bing, had been the source of the cares.

"I understand," he said, nodding gravely. "It is my hope that there is more merriment in thy parents' house now."

She could not help sighing. "Aye, they will be free of that care, but ... I fear they will be missing me, especially my father."

"You were close, then?" he asked, with a slight air of surprise.

She nodded, finding it hard to speak as memories of her parents suddenly overwhelmed her. She yearned in particular for her mother, to whom she felt she might be able to talk about her problems.

"Ah," he said. "My father and I were ... never close. Tell me of thy family, for I have been so constantly concerned with our life here that I have omitted to ask thee about thy life before this, and yet it is fitting that I should know something of it. Thou hast a brother, hast thou not?"

It did not take more than that one question to set her off, suddenly invigorated by a chance to talk about things that mattered a great deal to her. She poured out all kinds of details about her family and her life in Elmbridge, spurred on by further questions or comments from him. He took a serious interest in everything she told him, and when she offered to let him speak he simply shook his head and told her that it was her turn. She found this a great easing of her heart, and felt truly grateful to him for offering her the opportunity.

"Dost thou miss them, then?" he asked when she had flagged. "Now that thou hast less pressing matters on thy mind, perchance thy thoughts wander to Elmbridge and thine old home."

She gulped a little and nodded, but did not want to give him the impression that she was pining to return. "I have, have enjoyed setting up house here," she said, stammering a little. "It has been very pleasant to, to act the housewife."

He gave a little grin. "No acting – thou hast proved most competent. Well, dost thou think thou hast the household established on a sound footing, even if there is always more to be done?"

He seemed quite serious in his question, and so she took her time answering, thinking it over. The workmen had finished their various repairs and remodellings, and she now had a system for the household's work that Nan and the more intelligent maids knew as well as she did. Looking up, she saw his eyes intent on her, and nodded.

"Aye, 'twill serve, for now," she said. "I have still to decide much, and especially who shall be taken on as maids to live here, and that is a matter I must discuss with you, husband."

He nodded, but this was clearly not what he was most concerned with.

"Tomorrow, I will talk with Rob," he said. "If he feels about the estate as thou dost about the house, why should we not leave all in his hands for a few days and go to see my father, who will be eager to know of our progress, and thy parents and friends also?"

Monica felt a great rush of excitement that made her cry out and clap her hands. Of course she had expected that some day they would return to Elmbridge, but not so soon.

"Oh, husband!" she exclaimed. "How happy you have made me!" She felt a strong urge to express this happiness in the natural way, by going to embrace him, just as she might have done to her father when she was younger and he announced some treat. But just in time she restrained herself, fearing the rejection she met with in some of her dreams. She did, however, smile at him lovingly.

He blinked and looked a little confused, then returned a small smile. "It may not be immediately," he said. "I am still learning the work, and Rob may feel there is more to be done before we can let things lie for a little."

He seemed anxious that she should not be expecting to set out for Elmbridge on the morrow. But she was familiar with promises that took a while to be fulfilled and did not need this warning. The thought that soon she might be able to open her heart to her mother, or maybe first to Rachel, was enough for her.

"I can be patient," she said. "This is more than I could have hoped." She smiled at him again. "Thou art most kind, husband."

She realised as soon as she spoke that she had slipped into the more intimate "thou", when always before she had addressed him as "you". But she did not regret it, for he had given her real cause for happiness. The smile that he gave her in return made her heart skip a little. Then he got to his feet, and stretched, yawning mightily.

"I am for bed," he announced. "Wilt thou come, wife?" He held out a hand.

Heart beating a little faster, she placed her hand in his and walked up the stairs with him. He let her go when they were in the bedroom, but somehow she felt easier with him than ever before, and accepted that he truly wanted sleep without more than a slight twinge of disappointment. It warmed her when he muttered a sleepy "Good night" as she got in beside him, and that night she slept well.

**XXX**

It was more than a week before Rob Wilkins would finally allow that they could have a little slack time for a while. By that time men had been summoned from Oldcastle Manor to accompany them, and they made something of a stately progress back to Elmbridge over the next three days. She and Chandler conversed for much of the journey, about all manner of things, and the time passed quickly. They arrived at Oldcastle Manor in mid-afternoon, and Sir Charles Bing himself stood ready to greet them in the hall, with fine wine and cakes ready to hand.

"So, my son and daughter, is all well with thee?" he said jovially, after they had exchanged the formal kisses of welcome and been served some wine.

"Very well, I thank thee, father," said Chandler. "I know, it must seem but yesterday that we left, but I thought that a report of how far forward Rob and I have taken things would please thee, and moreover that my lady might wish to see her parents, and they her, for they have never been separated before."

Sir Charles nodded and grinned. "Perchance Mistress Monica has something that she would discuss with her mother," he said, raising his eyebrows insinuatingly.

Oh Lord, he believes I am with child, Monica thought in sudden alarm. She flushed and bent her head, knowing that this might contribute to his misapprehension, but unable to find any quick response.

Chandler was equal to it, however. "There may be many things that she wishes to discuss with her mother, sir," he said coolly.

Sir Charles grunted, sounding not altogether happy at this implicit denial of his hope. But then he began to question Chandler about how things were going on the estate, and Monica thought the moment had passed. In a while Sir Charles took them to sit in the withdrawing room, where Chandler drew her into the conversation, saying that she could speak to what had been done in the house better than he. Sir Charles seemed quite pleased with her account.

"Did I not tell thee, she would make a fine wife?" he said to Chandler. "Now, I had good warning of your arrival, so I have bidden thy parents to dinner, Mistress Monica, and thy brother and his wife too, for they are with thy parents at this time, and the Greens, so that thou needest not wait to speak with thy friend Rachel." He smiled at her in a fatherly way. "You will have much to tell each other, I doubt not."

"Thou art most kind, sir," she said fervently. "But if we are to have guests to dinner, should not Chandler and I cleanse ourselves of the dust of travel and don clothes more fitting for the occasion?"

"Indeed, that were best," he said, his voice filled with evident approval. For a moment she wondered whether there was some reason for this, and then she realised. She had referred to Chandler quite casually by his christened name, which Sir Charles must take as a sign of their closeness, as in a sense it was, if not in the sense that he imagined.

Two hours later, Monica stood in the hall besides Sir Charles and Chandler, wearing her best gown, awaiting their guests. It was some while since she had attended an occasion that she could enjoy wholeheartedly, as she had not enjoyed her wedding feast, and she was very much in the mood to do so. Chandler smiled sympathetically at her evident eagerness to see her family and best friend, and she smiled back. Again she felt Sir Charles looking approvingly at what he took to be signs of the affection that had grown between them.

There were voices in the hall, and shortly the steward, Ralph Daubeney as she now knew his name to be, led her family into the hall in his stately fashion and announced them. Quite unexpectedly tears sprang to Monica's eyes to see her parents, though at the same time her smile grew wide enough to split her face, or so it felt. They seemed to her to have aged; was that because she had been away from them?

Sir Charles and her father exchanged ceremonial greetings while Monica waited, aching to embrace her parents. Then Chandler said something very brief and waved her forward. She could not help it: she ran to her mother and hugged and kissed her fiercely, tears running, then her father.

"I have missed you!" she exclaimed.

Her father patted her on the back. "And we have missed thee, and I doubt not Ross has missed thee also."

Reminded that she should welcome her brother and sister-in-law, Monica turned to give Ross a somewhat more restrained embrace and kiss on the cheek. He chuckled and hugged her strongly.

"And how does married life suit thee, sister?" he said.

"Thou lookest well on it," said Carol, coming forward to be embraced in her turn, smiling broadly. She always showed Monica a degree of warmth that was somehow unsettling.

"I do well, I do well," she replied slightly distractedly, for she heard more voices and guessed that the Greens must have arrived. And so it proved. Here came Master Leonard Green behind Ralph Daubeney, with his wife Sandra on his arm and their three daughters behind, Rachel in the lead, wearing a gown that looked unfamiliar to Monica. There were more ceremonial greetings and kisses, but when it came to Rachel's turn she plunged forward, grabbed Monica's hands, and swung her round, beaming at her.

"I never hoped to see thee again so soon, my Monica!" she cried. "Thou art a sight for sore eyes, truly!"

"Rachel, thou art acting like some hoydenish wench! Guard thy tongue and behave!" her mother snapped. "'Tis not fitting for a maid."

Amy and Jill smirked to see their sister rebuked, but Rachel seemed quite unchastened, though she stopped dancing Monica round. Still she held her by one hand.

"I am so happy to see Monica, mother," she said. "Remember, I have such news to tell her."

Slightly unwillingly, Mistress Green relaxed her expression into a smile. "That is true, but look to it that thou learnest more seemly behaviour from her."

Sir Charles coughed meaningfully. "Shall we go in to dinner?"

"Oh, let us," cried Rachel gleefully. "May I sit by Monica, Sir Charles?"

She gave him such a wickedly beseeching glance that he chuckled and nodded. "'Tis of little consequence where we sit, since we are all friends and family here, are we not?" he said. "But go sit at some distance from me, lest I be deafened by thy endless prattle." His tone was teasing. Plainly Rachel had got him into the way of indulging her, as her own father and Monica's father did.

Triumphantly Rachel bore Monica off to the bottom of the table and sat at one side of her, while Monica's mother sat on the other. Rachel was a favourite with her, too.

"Thou lookest well, Monica," her mother said to her, when all were settled and had been helped to wine and their choice of meat. "'Tis plain, thou hast taken to wedded life."

Monica tried to smile naturally at her and said, "Aye, though I have a thousand cares as mistress of a household. Now I fully understand why sometimes thou wouldst show impatience with Ross and me, when we were children."

Her mother gave a deep chuckle. "Aye, there were times when it was hard to rein in my temper. But, as I have told thee, Ross was a gift from God, when thy father and I were almost past hope – and I was very pleased to have thee, too."

Monica felt a little pang of jealousy. Her mother had always favoured and indulged Ross much more than herself; she had been set to work in the kitchen and the house generally from an early age. But she had to admit, all that teaching of the housewife's arts had borne good fruit. Her life with Chandler would have been much more difficult if she knew as little as Rachel sometimes seemed to do.

"'Tis hard work, then, managing a household?" Rachel said with a touch of apprehension.

Monica nodded. "Aye, but very satisfying," she said.

"It is my hope that Chandler takes note of all that thou doest, and commends it," her mother said.

Monica's smile was much more natural. "He does indeed. He has let me have my will in all such matters, and much praises me, I do assure you. And he works harder than I do," she went on. "Almost every day he has been out with Rob Wilkins, our steward, and the men, working on the land, for it has been much neglected."

"And he a gentleman!" said Rachel, sounding rather shocked. "He should not have to work with common labourers."

Judith Geller looked at her rather sternly. "The true gentleman should not hold himself apart from the men upon whose work he relies so greatly for his livelihood," she said. "My Jack was much in the fields with his men when he was young. So, Chandler has taken to the work?"

"Aye, truly," Monica said enthusiastically. "To me it seems that he had no wish to live the life of a courtier or gentleman about town, but wanted true work."

Her mother nodded, smiling with approval. "Then he is indeed the husband I would have chosen for thee, for thou wast always one to be busy. And now, let Rachel tell thee her news before she burst, for this will explain why she shows this unaccustomed interest in housekeeping."

She looked teasingly at Rachel, who pouted a little, then smiled. "Father has found me a husband," she said eagerly. "He is called Oliver Lescrivain, a strange name but very ancient, and he is now the head of his family, for both his parents be dead."

"They were a great family once," said Judith Geller, "or so 'tis said, but much come down in the world. Yet he has worked hard and made them well to do again. He has an estate somewhere in the north, a place called Haxley or some such – "

"Hax_by_," Rachel corrected, in an impatient way that suggested it was not the first time.

Judith Geller waved a hand. "But he is more often to be found in London upon the Queen's business, and much of his livelihood comes from fees."

"A man of business and the law, then," Monica said. "But I trust he is not always at his charters and mortgages and such." She lifted an eyebrow at her friend, surprised that she should seem satisfied with such a dull-sounding man.

"No indeed," said Rachel. "He knows well how to pay court, and always shows me proper attention." She spoke with some complacency.

Judith Geller chuckled. "She winds him around her little finger, like all the men," she said. "But confess it, Rachel – thou dotest upon him also."

Rachel sighed deeply. "'Tis only too true." She looked down, seeming to blush a little, then directly at Monica. "I know not how it is, Monica, but as soon as I saw him I thought, that is the man for me."

"He is handsome?" Monica queried.

Rachel made a little gesture. "Maybe not as the world would see it, but ... he looks well, to me."

"This must be love," said Monica gaily. "Come, Rachel, I will pledge thee, for having found thy love!" She lifted her goblet. Rachel followed suit, and as they clinked the goblets Judith Geller lifted hers to make the third.

"Thy love for Chandler will come slower," she said to her daughter, "but I believe that I see the signs."

Monica could not help it; she flushed deeply and looked down, feeling a sort of shame that her behaviour had so misled her mother. And yet, she believed that she was reaching a stage where she could almost love Chandler ... if only he wanted her ...

She looked up, to see that both her mother and Rachel were looking at her with slightly concerned expressions.

"Monica," said her mother in a low voice, "truly, is ... is all well between thee and Chandler?"

Monica tried her best to look natural. "Why, yes, mother," she said as composedly as she could. "As well as might be, when we have known each other less than three months. But come, Rachel, tell me more of this Oliver. Is he often at the Queen's court?"

Evidently only too ready to speak of her new love, Rachel at once burst into a prolonged account. Monica did her best to appear attentive and to ignore the searching glances that her mother directed at her from time to time.

**XXX**

By the time the dinner ended, it was late and Monica was feeling very tired from the combined effects of their journey and having eaten and drunk a little too much. Chandler was in worse shape, if anything. They staggered off together to the bedroom they had used on their wedding night, changed into nightclothes and more or less fell into bed. They smiled at each other and muttered good nights before rolling over to sleep, which they did without waking until the morning, when maids attended them. As before, Monica went to another room to relieve herself, wash and dress. When she returned the bed had already been remade and Chandler was waiting to accompany her downstairs to breakfast.

"Wilt thou go to the Greens' house today, to see Mistress Rachel?" he asked.

She shook her head, then clutched it, wincing at a twinge of pain. "Nay, she is to come here," she said, remembering what had been agreed. "She wishes to be away from her sisters, lest they try to eavesdrop on our conversation."

Chandler nodded. "'Tis plain, they are jealous," he said seriously. "But, as the eldest, she might expect her father to find her a husband first."

Monica gave a little sigh. "Always he has shown most affection for her. I do confess, this does not surprise me much. For all her gossiping, she has the sweetest nature of the three. When I was younger, I was not as you see me now, but," she hesitated, "in truth, I was somewhat fat, until I got my growth. And they mocked me, with the other girls, but she never did. Always she stayed my friend."

He smiled at her. "I find it hard to imagine thee fat, milady wife," he said in a light tone, "very hard indeed. Why, I believe I could make my hands meet about thy waist."

She felt a sudden heat at the mental image of him holding her waist, and flushed a little. He too looked uneasy, as if he had gone beyond a boundary. Anxious to reassure him, for the image was by no means distasteful, she smiled at him but said no more, for they were entering the withdrawing room, now set up for breakfast.

Sir Charles was already there, with servants hovering behind him, a plateful of meats from the previous night before him with half a loaf of bread. He smiled and waved a chicken leg at them in greeting.

"Ask for whatever is thy wish, and it shall be brought, Mistress Monica," he said. "I am content with broken meats, but we have anything that thou couldst desire – eggs, cakes, pastries ..."

Monica felt a certain queasiness at the sight of the now greasy meat on his plate. "I thank thee, sir, but a cup of small beer and a round of bread, with a dish of whatever marmalade there may be, is all my desire."

He nodded, and one of the servants hurried away. But then suddenly he slapped his thigh. "Nay, but I had forgot! What sayest thou to a love apple? I have procured some from London." He peered at her from under bushy brows, obviously feeling he was offering her a rare treat appropriate to a young wife.

Monica flushed again, finding his manner too obviously insinuating, but she felt considerable curiosity about this fruit that she had heard of, but never seen.

"I will gladly try one, sir," she answered.

Sir Charles beamed as another servant set off instantly. When the round red fruit was brought and set before Monica, she had a sudden idea. Taking a small fruit knife, she carefully cut into the love apple, to halve it. It was firm, and looked nicely juicy. Then she cut a piece off one half and put it into her mouth. It was unexpectedly sharp, but still tasty. She used her knife to cut off another piece, speared it and held it out to Chandler.

"Husband, taste of this, I pray you," she said, smiling. "'Tis strange, but I like it." She was aware of Sir Charles beaming approvingly at her.

But Chandler, who had taken no food so far, twisted his mouth in an expression of distaste.

"I beg thou hold me excused, milady," he said. "I have tasted them before, and know that it would not sit well in my stomach this morning."

"Tasted before?" said his father rather explosively. "When, pray?"

"In London," said Chandler, somewhat shamefacedly, "with, with Mistress Katharine."

His father made an indistinct growling noise, then said grumblingly, "Well, if thou drankest too deep last night ... well ..." But he did not look pleased.

Monica too felt uneasy. Was Chandler's expressed reason the real one, or was he still pining after this Katharine? She lowered her knife to her plate, unable to conceal her dismay entirely.

"If your stomach is uneasy," she said, striving for lightness, "some plain bread might settle it – and I'll wager your throat is dry, so drink somewhat."

"There's a good wife!" said Sir Charles, thumping his fist on the table. "Thou shouldst thank God on thy knees that thou hast such a wife, Chandler."

He stood, his face flushed with temper, and said, "I would speak with thee later. Your pardon, Mistress Monica – I have much to attend to."

She rose and curtseyed. "Pray do not let me keep you, Sir Charles."

He nodded, looking a little mollified, and stumped off. Turning to Chandler, Monica saw that he too seemed angry.

"I beg your pardon, Chandler," she said a little nervously. "I had no intention – "

"'Tis nothing," he interrupted rather peevishly. "My father was always one for these starts." He ran a hand through his hair. "Truly, my stomach ails me somewhat, but thine advice is good. Will," he turned to one of the servants, "bring me the freshest round of bread we have, and small beer."

"At once, master," said Will, and hurried off.

Monica now felt little appetite, but finished her love apple, having been brought up never to waste food, and then ate some bread with a marmalade that was new to her, dark brown in colour, tart and sweet at the same time, which she liked at once.

"Husband, do you know what fruit this is?" she asked, pointing at the marmalade.

"Aye, 'tis the norange, or orange as some do now call it," he said, looking a bit better for a draft of small beer. "The name is Spanish in origin, but where the Dons came by the fruit I could not say." He made a deprecating gesture. "My father is always eager to find new things."

Monica smiled admiringly at his learning. "You know far more than I," she said, and returned to her food. The orange marmalade had given her back some appetite, and she decided to try some butter on her bread along with it. The combination worked well, and in the end she made a good breakfast. Feeling much better, she went back to their bedroom to wait for Rachel's arrival. But while she waited she could not help mulling over the possibility that maybe Chandler still had an affection for this Katharine, even though she had decided before that it was unlikely that he had a secret love. It made her realise that there were still things about him that she did not fully understand.

In a while she heard Rachel's cheerful voice upraised downstairs, and hurried to the head of the stairs to welcome her. Although she remembered that Rachel had eaten and drunk quite as much as she had, she seemed none the worse, and embraced Monica heartily. Monica led her to a small room next to the bedroom where they might have some privacy, and shut the door.

"So," said Rachel in a conspiratorial tone, "now we can speak full freely. How hast thou fared since we parted, truly?"

"'Twas hard at first," Monica said, "but there was so much to do in the house, I had little time to pine for my home. And though we did not converse much at the beginning, Chandler and I began to talk more and more easily. Thou mayst find this hard to credit, but he is a great talker. In truth, he cannot abide silence. So we have learned something of each other, and I have come to, to feel much liking for him."

She was not looking at Rachel when she spoke these last words, so did not see the look of surprise grow on her face, but it was there when she looked up at Rachel's loud gasp.

"Monica Geller," said Rachel in measured tones, "thou speakest of no more than liking, when thou hast shared a bed with him for _months_?"

Now she was faced with it, Monica found she could not lie.

"We, we have not ... been together as, as man and wife," she stammered, looking down again and feeling that her face must be scarlet.

Rachel gasped even more loudly. "But _why_?" she breathed.

Monica gulped. "He, he ... I do not believe he wants me," she muttered, and then her long pent-in emotions broke out and she burst into tears. Instantly Rachel jumped up and ran to throw her arms round her.

Through her tears, Monica told Rachel many things. How they made it appear that they had slept together on the wedding night, and why; how after that Chandler never approached her; how hard it was to understand what he really wanted; how sometimes she feared that his heart was set on another woman. Rachel rocked her gently to and fro through it all, making comforting noises. When Monica was recovered a bit, just heaving the occasional sob, she produced a handkerchief to wipe her cheeks.

"Now, my dear Monica," she said in a gentle but firm voice, "bethink thee a little. Has it not occurred to thee, that, after showing so great a consideration for thee that first night, he is now uncertain and knows not how to approach thee? Hast thou never noticed _anything_ that reveals a man's natural lusts in him?"

Monica sniffed. "There have been ... moments," she said uncertainly. "But, but ...." she paused, then burst out, "he seems so, so _distant_ when we are in our bedroom. And, and 'tis almost as if he has no wish to see me, when, when I am disrobing ..."

"All this," said Rachel, "may but show that he has some over-great fear of offending thee. This is not the way of most men, I know, but Chandler may be different. Yet here we come to it: dost thou want him to desire thee? Wouldst thou have him as thy husband in truth?"

Monica thought for a moment, then wailed, "I don't knooow!" After a pause to control herself, she went on, "Aye, sometimes I do feel that I want that, now that I know him, but ... suppose that secretly he loves another. 'Twill pain me even more, if I let myself feel love for him when he has nothing but, but ... courtesy to give in return."

Rachel sighed. "I did not observe him much last night," she said, "but I did not feel, when he and I spoke together, that his mind was on some other woman. But I would say, thou must seek ways to encourage him and fix his mind on thee." Suddenly her voice became very serious. "For, Monica, believe me in this: things cannot and will not go on in this manner for long. If he get not what it is natural for him to want from thee, he will find some village wench who is apt for it, and great trouble might come from that."

She sat back, and her manner changed. "Now, tell me of thy new life," she said, "and all that thou hast done, for 'tis clear, I shall need such knowledge when I set up house with my Oliver."

Relieved to have got off such an emotionally stressful subject, Monica launched into an account of how the house had been when she found it and all that she had done. Rachel paid unusual attention – previously she had been accustomed to dismiss talk of household matters as boring – and even asked one or two questions. Monica found a certain exhilaration in being able to speak of all her activities to another woman, even one as inexperienced in housekeeping as Rachel, and resolved to have a similar discussion with her mother.

It was only after Rachel had risen from her chair, saying that she should return to the Greens' house, that she reverted to the original topic.

"From all that thou hast told me," she said to Monica, "I cannot believe that thy Chandler still has some hidden longing for that Katharine Brewster. He would not be as easy with thee as thou hast shown. He would have moods, and maybe sudden angers. Nay, Monica, this cannot be, I am sure of it."

Monica smiled, and hugged her. "Would that I were as sure as thou," she said cheerfully enough, "but thou hast brought me to think, 'tis most unlikely."

"Keep that in thy thoughts," said Rachel, smiling back.

That afternoon Monica went to see her parents, and had a long and happy talk with her mother and Carol about running a household. She suspected that Carol's presence inhibited her mother from asking more intimate questions, for which she was grateful, though she still wondered whether she should confide in her and see if she had anything different to say from what Rachel had told her. But it was a great pleasure to her to be generally commended for all she had done by her mother, even if she characteristically found this or that to criticise, and to perceive that she had grown in her eyes from girl to woman. It was also pleasing to be obviously admired by Carol, who said frankly that she wished her mother had taught her as well as Monica's had.

Now that they were back in Elmbridge, Chandler showed no disposition to return to his estate quickly. This surprised Monica, for it was plain, though he tried to hide it, that he and his father were at odds over something. Yet Sir Charles showed great partiality to Monica, to the extent of embarrassing her with his compliments, especially after eating a beefsteak pie that she prepared for their dinner on the third day of their stay. In fact, he ate so much of the pie that he suffered for it later in the evening and in the night, for she and Chandler were awakened by the noise this caused, with servants hurrying up and down stairs.

But when she tried to commiserate with him at breakfast the next day he laughed it off, blaming her teasingly for making something so tasty that he was bound to overeat.

"I would my wife had been such a cook," he said. "Then matters had gone better between us, perchance."

Chandler made a sound that seemed to Monica very like a snort, but said nothing, and although his father plainly heard he took no notice except to dart an angry glance at him. But Sir Charles evidently had something on his mind, for he had little to say, but sat frowning and sighing to himself.

Shortly Chandler rose, saying that he was going to the Gellers' house to see Ross, with whom he had become friendly, and not to expect him for the noon meal. Monica had plans to talk with the Bings' cook in chief, who was very knowledgeable and ready to share his knowledge if approached in the right way, and said she would stay at Oldcastle Manor to do this.

She was happily engaged in preparing a rich veal soup under the cook's direction when a servant came to say that Sir Charles asked her to come to the hall. Slightly surprised, she quickly washed her hands and went out, to see that not only Sir Charles but her mother was awaiting her, with a third person, a quite tall woman with a long face and yellow hair. Though by no means old – she looked to be closer to Monica than her mother in age – she had an air of competence and experience. Sir Charles looked very serious, while her mother looked strained and sad.

"Monica my daughter," her mother said, in a slightly shaky voice, "this is Mistress Phoebe Buffay, who came recently to Elmbridge as midwife. She has a very good name."

Mistress Buffay curtseyed to Monica, who gave a little bow in return, her mind in a whirl.

"Sir Charles wishes that she should examine thee," her mother continued. "He is concerned that thou art not yet with child, and, and I too wonder if – " She paused, her face working, and put a hand over her eyes.

"If there be some impediment," said Mistress Buffay briskly. "'Tis not unknown. I promise ye, young mistress, I will do nothing that should cause ye pain."

Oh Lord, Monica thought in real dismay. If she were examined by a midwife, her virginal state would surely be discovered. Yet she thought she could see suspicion in Sir Charles's eye, and she wondered if her mother shared that suspicion. Her only hope was to go through with it, and cast herself on this midwife's mercy.

"V-very well," she said, stammering a little, "but I would r-rather I were alone with Mistress Buffay."

Her mother, who seemed as nervous as she was, nodded hastily. "I will stay within call."

"Let us go upstairs to a bedroom," said Mistress Buffay, directing a stern glance at Sir Charles, as if to indicate that this was a women's matter which he should keep far away from. With a rather ill grace, he said that he would wait in his study for her report.

They went to the bedroom that she and Chandler used, and Monica lay on the bed and pulled up her skirt and petticoat. Mistress Buffay went to work confidently, and paused almost at once.

"Why, what is this?" she said in a near-whisper. "Ye have not lain with your husband? Can a not do it, mayhap?"

Monica shook her head vigorously, momentarily unable to speak when confronted with it so openly. Then she gasped out, "It is no such matter. There are reasons ... 'tis most complicated ... Please, please do not tell Sir Charles, or my mother! I, I will see to it, that you are well rewarded, Mistress Buffay."

Mistress Buffay frowned. "No need of that, but there is some tale here. I pray ye, expound it to me quickly."

Monica gasped out the details of how she had come to marry Chandler and how things had gone between them as quickly as she could. Mistress Buffay listened quietly, nodding now and then but showing no reaction in her face. When Monica was finished, she smiled.

"Mistress, 'tis my belief, ye are addlebrained, one as much as t'other," she said, not unkindly. "Thou waitest on him, and he, I doubt not, waiteth on thee."

"R-Rachel said something similar," Monica said, too unnerved to take offence at being addressed in this very familiar manner.

Mistress Buffay smiled in a different way. "Mistress Rachel Green? Aye, for all her flighty ways, she hath some sense in these matters, or so 'tis said in the village. Now, I must ask thee some questions, to be assured that I shall not be forswearing myself too greatly. Are thy courses regular?"

Feeling an immense sense of relief at the indication that Mistress Buffay would lie for her, Monica readily answered her questions, even the most intimate, and soon they went out to see Monica's mother, who was pacing up and down, the picture of worry.

"There is no cause for alarm," Mistress Buffay announced firmly. "But as we women well know, Mistress Geller, conception is not always as easy as men fancy." Her expression showed some disdain, as if at men's presumption to know about such intimately female matters.

"Nay, indeed not," said Judith Geller, smiling as she relaxed in relief. "As you may have heard tell, I can bear witness to that in mine own body. I had feared that what ailed me might somehow have come to Monica ..."

"I see no reason to fear that," said Mistress Buffay reassuringly. "Come, let us go to Sir Charles."

There was a slightly severe look on her face, and when they came to Sir Charles's study, where he sat at a desk covered in papers, she spoke at once.

"Your daughter-in-law is in right good health, Sir Charles," she said quite sternly, showing him no deference at all. "But she is a woman, not a breeding ewe, and women do not always conceive as easily as ewes. If ye will be ruled by me in this, do not treat her, and your son, as ye would your breeding stock. Cease your fretting and have but a little patience. It hath been well said, the later engendered, the likelier to thrive."

It was plain that Sir Charles did not relish being addressed so bluntly, but Mistress Buffay spoke with the assurance of the expert. He tried to smile naturally at Monica and her mother.

"I pray your forgiveness, Mistress Geller, Mistress Monica," he said. "I have not the best of health, and was concerned – "

"Tush, Sir Charles," Mistress Buffay interrupted in a much lighter voice, "if ye did eat less, ye would amend your health greatly and might live these twenty years. Aye, even if it be one of Mistress Monica's beefsteak pies, whose fame has spread to the village," here she glanced at Monica with twinkling eyes, "ye should partake in moderation."

This sally actually seemed to tickle Sir Charles's fancy. He gave a great bellow of laughter. "Thou hast me there, and soundly, Mistress Buffay!" he said. "Pray, apply to Master Daubeney for thy fee, and if thou wilt be pleased to take a nuncheon in the kitchen ..." He waved a hand expansively.

Mistress Buffay curtseyed. "Indeed, I shall be pleased to do so, Sir Charles," she said. Then she turned to curtsey to Monica and her mother, caught Monica's eye and inclined her head a little, and swept out.

"By your leave, Sir Charles," said Judith Geller and led Monica out.

"I am right sorry to have agreed to that, Monica," she said quietly, once they were some way down the passage, "but as I told Mistress Buffay, I feared – "

Impulsively Monica hugged her mother. "I bear thee no grudge, mother," she said. "It cheers me greatly that thou dost care so much for me. But, as Mistress Buffay said to Sir Charles, we must have patience."

Her mother's eyes twinkled. "That was a sight to see, was it not, Sir Charles bearded in his own lair? I tell thee, Monica, it did my heart good to see her so confront him. He is too fond of his own will in all matters. I do confess, I was overborne by him."

Monica gave her mother another hug to reassure her that she did not blame her. She had also got some pleasure from seeing Mistress Buffay handle Sir Charles so fearlessly. "She will be good for Elmbridge, I think," she said.

She said farewell to her mother lovingly at the house door and then returned to the bedroom, to think over what she would say to Chandler, for of course he must know of all this. At first she felt easy about everything that had occurred, but in a while a thought struck her. She was relying completely on Mistress Buffay's good faith. But she had taken no oath, and she might consider it politic, on reflection, to be on good terms with Sir Charles, the biggest landowner in the neighbourhood.

Suppose she told him that Monica was still a virgin; what would his reaction be? Despite his previous approval of her, he would surely prefer his son to have a wife that he wanted. Could he somehow procure an annulment of the marriage? Monica knew little about the process of annulment, but she knew that non-consummation of the marriage was one grounds for it. And if all this came to light, she knew well, she would be blamed by many, her parents would be disappointed in her, and if the marriage was annulled the contract her father had signed with Sir Charles would be worthless and he might have to pay the debt after all.

She tried to dismiss these fears as groundless, to remind herself that Mistress Buffay had seemed absolutely trustworthy, but they kept returning. The result was that when Chandler returned after spending much of the day with Ross, most recently taking a pint of ale with him in the village tavern, he found a most unhappy-looking wife, who looked up with a woebegone expression when he entered the room.

Instantly he rushed to her, crying, "Monica, what ails thee?" and took her hands.

Monica was too wrapped up in her fears for the future to notice that he had used her name, but she thrilled to his display of worry for her and the feeling of his warm hands on hers.

"I ... there are things I must tell thee, Chandler," she said, trying to control her voice.

Quickly she told him of her examination by the village midwife, of her undertaking to conceal the truth of Monica's virginity, and of the fears that had begun to prey on Monica's mind. She was unable to look Chandler in the face as she spoke of these, and did not do so until she heard him give a definite snarl, and turned to see something she had never seen before – Chandler in a state of rage.

"That he should dare!" he growled through his teeth. "The interfering old tyrant! But what reason dost thou have to distrust this Mistress Buffay?"

"None, save that Sir Charles is a great man in these parts, and she is but an ordinary woman," she confessed. "She did show no fear of him, I grant."

"I know nothing of her," Chandler said, "but there are other things of which I know somewhat. My father cannot procure an annulment with a snap of his fingers. 'Tis a lengthy and expensive business, and if it were for, for non-consummation," he stumbled a little here, "this would require a statement from thee on oath that I was incapable." Suddenly he looked at her almost pleadingly. "Thou wouldst not do that?"

"No, never," she cried at once, horrified at the suggestion.

"Then the thing cannot be proved," he said flatly. "What evidence can he bring? He may state his suspicions, but they would count for nothing in court against our joint assertion."

Monica could not help it; she gave a long sigh of relief.

Chandler looked at her steadily. "Monica," he said quietly, taking hold of her hand again, "this would require thee to lie on oath. Thou wouldst take that sin on thy soul, for me?"

Monica looked him in the eyes, squared her shoulders and nodded. "Aye, I would," she said. She had recognised what he was really asking, whether she wanted to remain his wife, and she now knew what her answer was.

His serious expression turned to a happy smile. "That is well, for of a certainty I have no wish to be parted from thee." Suddenly he sprang to his feet, his expression turning angry again. "And now I go to my busybody of a father, to have this out with him!"

"Oh, but Chandler – " she protested, standing too, but he shook his head at her.

"Even into my manhood, he has interfered in my life," he said. "But this shall be the last time, I warrant!"

He strode out of the room and she heard his feet stamping down the passage towards the stairs. Fearful that he might go too far, in a moment she stole after him, walking as quietly as she could. She watched him descend the stairs and marked the way he went, to his father's study, and slowly, looking about her a little fearfully in case one of the servants should see her, she followed in his footsteps.

Chandler was in full swing by the time she was close to the study doorway, evidently not caring who might hear.

"To go behind my back in this way, as if I were still a child!" he raged. "And what didst thou hope to gain? I pray this Mistress Buffay be no tattler, or this tale will go all over Elmbridge and beyond, and, I doubt not, be turned to all kinds of slanderous gossip that will much hurt our family, and Monica particularly!"

"There is talk already, among the servants," came his father's voice, sounding heavy and reluctant. "I cannot be sure of thee. As I have told thee before, thou seemest cold to her always." His voice developed an angry tone. "Didst thou persuade her, by what means I know not, to gull me? Hast thou lain with her, in truth, or is thy heart still given elsewhere, and therefore thou dost not approach her?"

"Given elsewhere!" Chandler gave a wild laugh. "To whom, prithee? I must suppose thou hintest at Katharine Brewster. But she is nothing to me, nothing! And what my wife and I do in the bedroom is no concern of thine, nay, not even though thou art my father. 'Tis ill done, meddling between man and wife."

"If thou wilt not give me a straight answer," Sir Charles shouted, "but wilt so defy me, mayhap I will consider again who shall be my heir."

"Then shalt thou appear the tyrant father, who drives his son away for no good reason that the world can see," Chandler retorted in a quieter tone. "But have it as thou wilt. The Rickmansworth estate is mine, by thine own hand, and we will find a way to live without thy money, though we work from dawn to dusk."

He came storming out, to pause in evident surprise to see Monica hovering there.

"I, I was so concerned," she stammered, "concerned that thou mightest fight with him."

He seemed to relax a little. "Nay, I would never raise my hand to him, however much he angered me," he said. "Come, let us go back to our bedroom, for we have much to talk over."

"Would thy father truly cut thee out of his will and make another his heir?" she said worriedly as they ascended the stairs.

Chandler laughed dismissively. "Nay, 'tis but words. When he told me I was to marry thee, will I nill I, he used the same threat, and I was ready to believe it then. He will see that this is pure folly, when his temper calms."

"I, I heard somewhat that he said, that first time, before you all came in," Monica confessed. "Thou wast not ready to marry me then."

"I was not ready to marry anyone," Chandler corrected. "I had not even seen thee. When I did – " He gave her a smile that made her heart turn over. "But no more of this until we are well away from long ears." He nodded significantly at a maidservant who stood a short distance away, seemingly engaged in dusting a chair and table set in the passage off which their bedroom opened.

Monica's mind was awhirl with all the new ideas that she was trying to absorb. Chandler cared nothing for any other woman; he truly wanted her for his wife; it seemed, he wanted her. And realising this made her fully realise and accept something else. Now, calling to mind what Rachel had told her, when she confessed dallying with a lutenist, she did not feel a shrinking from any thought of doing such things with Chandler, but rather a lively wish to see what it would be like. She thought she would welcome his lips on hers and – it made her flush to think of it, but she did not push the thought away – his arms around her. In spite of herself, she giggled at the absurdity of it, that it should be Sir Charles's suspicions of the truth that would change that truth for ever, or so she hoped. She looked up through her lashes at Chandler: he had a sort of intent look about him, but did not seem uneasy as he had used to do.

As they entered the bedroom, Chandler opening the door for her and shutting it carefully behind him, he said, with a touch of humour in his voice, "And what has made thee laugh, Monica?"

She could not tell it to him directly. "I just thought how strange it all was, that this should show me what I truly felt about thee."

"I was always in fear that thou didst not truly want to be my wife," he said.

"Was that why thou wast so distant in the bedroom?" she asked, feeling ready to be bold with him.

He looked abashed. "Thou art so fair ... I could not believe that thou wouldst want me, especially when we were thrust into marriage together so hastily. I thought that in time, maybe ... but even when we were better known to each other, it was so hard to take the first step."

"My feelings were somewhat similar," she replied. "I feared especially that thou didst not want me – "

"Not want thee?" he cried in amazement. "Monica, no man that was not blind could fail to want thee!"

She smiled, feeling sure of him now. "Then Mistress Buffay was in the right. She said that we were both addlebrained, each waiting on the other."

He nodded, smiling, then suddenly wriggled his shoulders uncomfortably. "Lord, I am all of a mucksweat," he said in explanation, "from my day's doings with thy brother and my recent raging at my father."

"Then take off thy doublet," she said, smiling. "'There is time enough before dinner to shift thy shirt, even to wash."

With a look of gratitude, he undid his doublet and tossed it aside, and at once she saw a rip in his shirt, under his armpit.

"Oh husband, what hast thou been doing?" she cried reproachfully. "Thy shirt is badly torn. Have it off at once, and I shall mend it straight."

She went looking for her sewing box, and on finding it turned round, to see Chandler naked to the waist, holding out his shirt. The blood rushed to her face. She had glimpsed him like this any number of times, when he changed for bed, but now ... Slowly she approached, keeping her eyes on his. She did not take the shirt; instead, she came close to him and looked up. This was as much as she felt she could do to encourage him.

With a groan, he threw his arms around her, pulled her to him, and bent to fasten his mouth on hers. She dropped the sewing box and threw her arms around his neck, melting into his kiss, then running her hands down his strong back.

In a while he pulled back a little, and whispered, "Whatever we do, it is thy decision …"

Feeling a sense of triumph, she nevertheless knew that it would be better if he chose.

"It is my decision to ask my husband what he would have of me," she said, smiling at him.

For a moment Chandler looked uncertain. Then he smiled, and his intent look returned, strengthened.

"I would see thee as Adam saw Eve, or as those nymphs that attended her birth from the sea saw Venus," he said simply.

Just for a moment she felt nervous and unsure of herself. But the way that Chandler was looking at her, with a combination of tenderness and longing, gave her courage.

"Very well," she whispered, "but," for a moment her lips twitched in humour, "in exchange, I shall want to see thee as Eve saw Adam."

"Nothing easier," he said, his eyes bright, "but do thou go first."

Quickly she took off her short jacket, then worked the ties on her bodice, undid it and threw it to a chair, following it with her shoes and stockings. All the while his eyes kept on her, and a slight smile stayed on his face. Unconsciously taking a breath, she turned her back to him.

"Pray, husband, unbutton my gown," she said shakily.

"Willingly," he muttered, and set to work. While he was doing that she unpinned and unbraided her hair and let it fall loose. As soon as he was done she stepped out of her dress and put it aside, then put her hair back behind her shoulders and turned again to face him in petticoat and shift. Her face felt hot, she could feel her heart beating, and her breath was now coming faster; so was his.

"I have an idea," he said hoarsely, before she could go further. "Let us turn our backs to each other, to remove what remains, then turn to see each other when I give the word."

"Agreed," she said, and turned away. It was the work of a moment to remove her undergarments. Then she stood, quivering with excitement, as she heard him drop his shoes and take off stockings and breeches, with a muffled curse that suggested he had lost his balance for a moment. She stifled a giggle.

After a pause, he said, "Turn."

They did, and for the first time she gazed at a fully naked man. That he was in a very excited state did not dismay her; after a life spent among farm animals she had some idea what to expect. Rather, she welcomed it as the clearest sign that he truly did want her, and the look in his eyes as they roamed over her body made her blood run hot.

"As fair as Venus," he said, even hoarser than before, and held out his arms. Joyfully she ran into them and pressed herself against him.

"Take me, Chandler," she said in a voice of love. "Take me as thy wife."

**To be continued**

Author's Note (from Exintaris): And that concludes Monica's dream! But there is more to come, when she tells the others, so there will be a shorter third chapter.

For information: Love apple was the original name for the tomato (introduced from the New World by now), because it was thought to have aphrodisiac qualities. Marmalade was an Elizabethan word for any fruit preserve. L'Escrivain, as it would be in French, means "the writer", more or less.

Author's note (from Jana~):

As Exintaris just said, there will be a third chapter. We have decided to combine what is left of this fic with the sequel, which is just way too short to be a fic, or even a chapter of a fic, all on its own. The third chapter, like the first, will have combined written content by both of us.

There was an additional chapter of the 'Past Lives' series, that is completely separate from this story, also originally posted in 2002, that I may or may not rewrite and post. Whether I do or not depends on you, the readers. If there is an interest in me doing so, I will, but only if there is an interest. That chapter/story takes place in the latter 1800s, and includes all the 'Friends' near equally.

**If** there is an interest, and I **do** rewrite the latter 1800s fic, it will most likely be my work alone. While Exintaris had a blast working on **this** fic, he does have a life, and fics of his own to write, and this project took considerable time away from both.

I thank him greatly for the time he spent on this, to make it what it is, which is far better and more historically accurate than the original ever was.

An added thank you to Venused, for her assistance and support with this project.

Now, I would like to ask a favor. Especially since this fandom seems to be dwindling, as far as readers and writers go, could you maybe, please, take a moment and review? Writers thrive on feedback… without it, we writers tend to lose motivation. Lack of motivation to write could very well mean that this fandom will soon be a ghost town. We don't want that to happen, do we?

So, please, just take a sec and give us your thoughts. We would be most appreciative.

MTLBYAKY


	3. Chapter 3

**The One With The Renaissance Faire**

Original story by: Jana~

Rewrite by: Jana~

And: Exintaris

Brief author's note:

While Exintaris helped with the old English dialog, the written content in this chapter is solely by Jana.

More notes at the end, per as usual.

**XX**

**Chapter Three**

**XXX**

--Startled awake, only vaguely aware of being gently caressed, Monica sat upright, looking around in sleepy confusion.

Chandler's hand slid down to rest on her thigh as she propped herself against the headboard; he smiled sheepishly when she looked over at him finally. "Sorry," he apologized, "I didn't mean to wake you. I just couldn't help but touch you."

Still somewhat dazed, the dream still vivid in her mind, she whispered, "I just had the strangest dream."

"Yeah?" he asked, propping himself on an elbow, draping an arm across her as he nuzzled her shoulder. "What about?"

"We lived back in the renaissance era," she began, relating all she could remember, speaking faster with each new twist in the story, until she got near the end. When sharing the intimate details, she grew quieter, inexplicably shy, then muttered in conclusion, "That's when I woke up."

"Bummer!" he said teasingly, hoping to ease her sudden tension. It worked, but only briefly.

She smirked at him, before growing serious again. "Yeah," she agreed, "It was turning into a nice little moment."

"Well, ya'know, if you're feeling up for it, I could help you… recreate it," he offered, then looked at her hopefully.

A slight smile flickered in response, but dropped as quickly as it appeared. "I think it was because of that guy at the faire," she theorized, receiving a simple affirmative hum from him in reply.

Then further conversation, about the dream and everything else, was put on hold, the gentle affection of his kisses across her neck taking precedence.

**XXX**

--Her friends and brother hung on her every word, as Monica retold her dream for the second time. Uncomfortable with sharing the intimate portion near the end, she stated vaguely, "And then we consummated the marriage. That's when I woke up," she added, then reached over to the coffee table in front of her to grab her now lukewarm tea.

"Before or after the good stuff?" Joey asked, to which Monica rolled her eyes in response.

She didn't even bother answering him. After sipping her tea, she continued, "It had to be because of what that drunk guy said to me at the faire."

"Ever notice how drunk guys always seem to say something to set you off?" Joey asked, referring to the drunk guy who mistook Monica for Ross' mom in London.

Annoyed by the attempted diversion of her point, Monica ignored Joey's question and announced, "It was just a really weird dream, ya'know? And everyone was in it! You were there," she said as she pointed at Rachel, "And you were there, and you," she added as she pointed at Ross and Phoebe.

"Yes, Dorothy," Chandler quipped, "But you're back in Kansas now with your little dog Toto."

"Ha, ha," Monica deadpanned, adding sharply, "I'm just saying, it was unlike any dream I've ever had!"

"That's because it wasn't **just** a dream," Phoebe interjected, causing all eyes to then land on her. "It was more," she clarified. "It was a glimpse into your past life."

Intrigued but skeptical, Monica replied, "Nuh-uh!"

"Yeah-huh!" Phoebe shot back, then explained, "Some of the details weren't right, like the names, but that's probably cause it was partially colored by your knowledge of **this** life."

"Phoebe," Ross asked in his typically incredulous way, "How could you possibly know that?"

"Duh!" she exclaimed, her tone of voice clearly indicating that she felt the question was dumb, and the answer obvious, "Cause I was there!"

As Ross made a scoffing sound in response, Monica asked, "Phoebe, are you telling us that we've known each other in past lives?"

"Yeah," Phoebe answered with a confident nod, "Our paths have crossed a few times. Well, except for Joey," she added, "Since he's new."

Her interest piqued, Rachel adjusted her position on the orange sofa and asked, "Ok, then, what other stories can you tell us? What other time eras have we been in?"

"That would take way too long," Phoebe replied with a wave of her hand. "We'll have to save those stories for another time."

Rachel pouted for a moment, disappointed, but then perked up as an idea came to mind. "Then, tell us more about Monica's dream," she suggested. "What happened next?" she asked, which caused Ross to scoff again.

"She couldn't possibly know what happened next," he insisted.

It was then Phoebe's turn to scoff. "Oh, on the contrary Mr. Doubty-Pants!" she exclaimed, "I happen to know very well what happened next!"

_--"Take me, Chandler," she said in a voice of love. "Take me as thy wife."_

_He needed no further encouragement. Scooping her into his arms, he placed her gently on the bed, then immediately climbed in beside her. As eager as they were, their caresses were tentative at first, carefully gauging each other's reactions as they touched and explored. But as desire swelled, all sense of nervousness dissolved._

--"Why were they nervous?" Joey asked, and Phoebe sighed in mild exasperation at being interrupted.

"Because it was their first time," she answered. "Well, it was her first time," she corrected herself. "I think it came up later, that he'd actually been with some woman from London, but that was before he'd even met Monica."

"So, then, why was **he** nervous?" Joey pressed further, scowling in confusion.

"Because it was his first time with **her**," Phoebe explained, then added, "And he was a lot like he is in this life… low self confidence."

"So, they – **we** - did consummate the marriage that night?" Monica asked curiously.

"I thought you said you did," Joey reminded her, which caused Rachel to groan impatiently.

"Would you just let her tell the story?" she snipped at him; he quickly adopted a hurt bunny look and started sulking.

"Fine," he huffed, folding his arms across his chest and looking away from the group.

"I woke up before anything… significant happened," Monica told Joey, but he only glanced in her direction in response.

"You did," Phoebe said, answering Monica's previous question, "And it was fantastic, according to the you back then, but, I don't know much more than that."

Chandler sat a little taller, apparently proud of his past self, then asked, "What happened after that?"

Thinking for a moment, Phoebe continued, "You guys skipped dinner, and stayed in bed until breakfast the next morning…"

_--Chandler and Monica walked hand in hand down the corridor and towards the diningroom, but upon seeing Charles as they entered, they dropped their link and the smiles they wore._

_After pleasantries were exchanged, they joined him at the table, but the knowing grin he wore made Monica uncomfortable, so she averted her gaze and hung her head low. Chandler just seemed annoyed by it._

"_You are well rested, both of ye?" Charles asked, and while the question was benign enough, Chandler knew very well what his father was fishing for._

"_Yes," Chandler answered shortly, then began to address Monica on what she would like to eat. Since the marmalade had been such a big hit with her, he started there, hoping to ease her discomfort. She accepted with a smile, but dropped it again when she caught Charles watching them intently out of her peripheral vision._

"_You must be hungry," Charles assumed, "Since you missed dinner last night."_

"_Father," Chandler said in warning, but Charles only laughed, then took a hearty drink from his tankard._

_Charles eased off after that, but Monica still couldn't help feeling her every move was being scrutinized. As the men discussed business, Monica occupied herself with her simple meal of bread and butter with marmalade, offering only a few words in answer when directly asked a question._

_It felt like hours had passed, before Charles finally excused himself and left the table, leaving Chandler and Monica alone in the room, save the servants. Chandler dismissed them kindly, then put his finger to his lips for Monica's benefit, waiting until he heard their footsteps growing fainter before gesturing for her to speak._

"_He knows," she whispered worriedly._

"_He knows only that we lay together," he assured her. "He cannot know that it was for the first time, or rather," he grinned and corrected, "The first, second, and third times."_

_She blushed a little but smiled at the memory, then placed her hand over his, entwining their fingers together. "When can we leave?" she asked, the question as sudden as her intense expression._

"_Today," he answered, "If that is what you wish."_

"_It has been a good visit," she told him, "And I have no quarrel with thy father, but his constant concern with our life together is rather unsettling."_

"_I shall make the arrangements at once," he promised, "But it will take time to make them, and gather our belongings."_

"_If it be thy wish," she suggested, "I can gather our belongings whilest thou tendest to the arrangements."_

_He agreed with a nod, then kissed her gently after they left the table, before going their separate ways._

--"Why was your father like that?" Rachel asked Chandler, cutting Phoebe off.

"How should I know?" Chandler answered, "This was Monica's dream, and now Phoebe's story! Ask them!"

"Typical of wealthy men in that time," Phoebe explained, "He thought everything was his business."

"Typical of wealthy men in **this** time, too," Ross interjected, though he did so with an air of disinterest.

Monica waved off her brother dismissively, then asked Phoebe, "So, when we left, back to our estate, did he leave us alone?"

"Hardly," Phoebe said with a laugh. "He was a thorn in your side until he died. In fact, it was only about a month later, that he showed up at your estate unannounced… with **me**…"

_--Chandler entered the house at a full run, a ball of sweat and filth from working in the fields. The servant sent to fetch him had been vague in why he was needed. If not for that, he wouldn't have made a spectacle of himself, barging through the door._

_Startled by the noise, Monica spun around abruptly, accidentally dropping her full goblet of wine on the drawing room floor as she did. Horrified by the mess she had just created, she immediately knelt to tend to it, as did the servant in the room._

_Concern and distraction caused Chandler's attention to narrow onto his wife. "Why hast thou sent for me?" he asked urgently. "Is something wrong?"_

_Monica stood slowly, her eyes darting sharply to her left, but his expression only showed confusion, until his gaze drifted to his right. Shock registered on his face briefly, before it was forced away in favor of courtesy._

_He greeted them cordially, Phoebe a little more so than his father, then asked in a rather irritated tone, "To what do we owe this honor?"_

_His father's reply did not surprise him in the least. Now that Chandler was married, of course his obsession would shift to having a grandson. Chandler's glare met his father's smug twinkle for several moments, before suggesting that he and Monica must discuss things, before Mistress Phoebe would be allowed to examine her._

"_Mistress Monica has already agreed," Charles insisted, and of this Chandler had no doubt. She was intimidated by him, and would agree to anything he asked of her._

"_I am her husband, am I not?" he asked harshly. "I should be consulted about such matters, should I not?"_

_His father's smirk never faltered. "Of course," he said with a dismissive wave. "We will wait here and enjoy our ale while you… discuss the matter."_

_His father's flippant attitude and tone irritated Chandler further, but when speaking to Monica, his voice showed no sign of it. He asked simply for her to follow him, then gently took her hand and led the way out of the room._

"_I know why thou didst agree," Chandler whispered once they were out in the hall, separated from his father and Mistress Phoebe by the closed door to the drawing room, "My father can be intimidating, but if truly thou dost not want this, I will send them away."_

_Sighing, Monica whispered back, "We were going to send for one, anyway. If we appease him, maybe he will leave us be for a time."_

_A slight smile came to Chandler's face as he rested his hand against her abdomen. "Can you imagine my worry, when Nan came to fetch me, but would tell me no reason why? I don't think I have ever run so fast."_

"_I'm sorry to have worried thee," she apologized, placing her hand on top of his. "I thought it best, not to give thine anger time to build."_

_He gave a slight nod, then asked, "So, you would like Mistress Phoebe to examine thee? Maybe to even be thy midwife?"_

"_She has proven herself trustworthy," Monica answered…_

--"How did she prove herself trustworthy?" Rachel asked Phoebe, interrupting the story yet again, but it was Monica who answered.

"She didn't tell Chandler's dad that I was still a virgin, that first time she examined me."

"Was that really such a big deal back then?" Rachel asked curiously.

"With some people more so than with others," Ross chimed in, showing that while he seemed uninterested, he was actually listening to the story.

"But they were basically forced to get married!" Rachel argued. "Love would take time, in a situation like that," she added, finally seeing why Monica had reacted the way she did, the day previous at the faire.

"Love might," Joey scoffed, "But sex? Sex is just sex! Why not just do it?"

"Because for some people," Phoebe answered sharply, "That step isn't taken lightly."

"'Some people' meaning girls," Joey scoffed again.

"The Chandler in the past waited, too!" Monica countered. "How do you explain that one?"

When Joey opened his mouth to answer, a smirk on his face, Chandler made an unintelligible noise and pointed at him in warning.

"Can we just get on with the story now?" Ross huffed in exasperation.

"Why do **you** care?" Rachel taunted him.

"Because the sooner she finishes, the sooner we can all move on," he answered defensively.

"Yeah, we should hurry this along," Phoebe somewhat agreed, glancing down at her watch. "I have a massage client at three…"

_--Chandler paced the drawing room floor as his father looked on. He had never before been so nervous in his life, and his father's presence certainly didn't help matters._

"_Thou wearest the rug thin," Charles said, annoyed. "Sit! They will bring the news soon enough."_

_Chandler held his tongue. This wasn't the time to get into a fight with his father. He continued his pacing, though, as a show of defiance, which gained him an irritated snort in response. When finally they returned, Charles stood, and Chandler ceased all movement, both men holding their breath as they awaited Phoebe's announcement._

_She addressed Chandler directly. "Thy wife is with child."_

_Appearances and proper showing were abandoned. Chandler stepped quickly, gathering Monica into his arms and holding her tightly as he whispered 'I love thee' in her ear._

"_Praise be!" Charles exclaimed, holding his tankard high as he added, "This calls for a toast!" Chandler and Monica broke away from their embrace to give him their attention. "Mayest thou bear a son, and may he be strong and healthy!"_

_They didn't care whether it was a boy or a girl, but Chandler and Monica nodded courteously to Charles all the same, then turned towards one another and embraced once again._

"_Art thou as happy as I?" Chandler asked, whispering in order to keep the conversation as private as possible._

"_More so," Monica answered, also whispering._

"_Mistress Phoebe," Charles suggested heartily, "Let us take our leave! The soon-to-be parents have much to discuss!"_

--"So she **was** pregnant!" Rachel exclaimed excitedly.

"Yep," Phoebe replied, "The first of six. A son, which of course made Chandler's dad plenty happy."

"Six kids?" Chandler asked with wide eyes, and then Monica rolled hers.

"Relax, Chandler," she said, "They were born centuries ago. I'm sure they're all dead by now."

"Two died in infancy," Phoebe continued, "And one died in battle, I think."

The story probably wasn't even true, and even if it was, it was centuries ago, but for some reason, Chandler felt a pang of sorrow, and gently placed his hand on Monica's consolingly in response.

"What happened to Chandler and Monica?" Joey asked, seeming to take the story a bit more seriously.

"They remained very much in love, until Chandler died," Phoebe answered. "I think he was in his early sixties. Monica died two years later, of a broken heart," she added, and the mood amongst them turned somber.

Eventually breaking the awkward silence, Rachel asked, "What happened to everyone else?"

"You married Oliver," Phoebe answered, "And had at least a few kids, though I'm not sure how many. I know your oldest was a son… I think you named him Edmund. Pretty sure Ross and Carol had four kids, but only one survived past childhood. Ross and Monica's dad died before their mom, so Ross and Carol moved in with her, to help her manage the house. Chandler's dad died suddenly… probably had a heart attack from eating all that fattening food, but he hung on long enough to see all of his grandbabies born."

"What about you?" Joey asked.

"I died a few years after Monica," she answered. "After delivering this woman's baby, her husband decided, since the baby didn't look like him, that she must've had an affair, so he killed her, me, and the baby, and then he killed himself. He was reincarnated as a dung beetle."

"Oh my God," Rachel gasped, "That's horrible!"

"Oh, please!" Ross snapped, slamming the magazine he was pretending to read down on the coffee table, "Can we please just get real here, people? I mean, forget for a moment that reincarnation doesn't exist… if you **were** there, how could you possibly know so many personal details?"

"I was her live-in midwife for all six of her pregnancies," Phoebe answered casually. "We became friends. Friends share details," she added with a smirk.

"I believe you, Phoebe," Monica said to her, and she smiled gratefully in return.

"I want to hear another story about our past lives!" Joey requested with childlike eagerness.

"Ok, sure, but later," Phoebe told him as she pulled money out of her pocket to settle her tab before leaving.

"Why doesn't everyone come over for dinner tonight?" Monica suggested, receiving various responses of approval.

"I'll bring the wine!" Rachel announced, which brought a frown to Joey's face.

"We have to bring stuff?" he whined at Chandler.

"No, Joe," Chandler placated, "You don't have to bring anything."

"I guess I'll come, too," Ross interjected, and all attention was on him in a flash. "What?" he asked, "Someone with a sense of reason should be there!"

"So, you're bringing a friend, then?" Chandler quipped, causing everyone to laugh but Ross, who just glared back at him.

"He **should** come," Phoebe insisted as she gathered her belongings. "Maybe we can crack his mind open a fraction of an inch," she added, then stood and patted Ross on the head teasingly.

Ducking away from her touch, he snipped, "Just because I don't believe in fairy tales, doesn't mean I'm closed minded!"

Knowing the argument would continue for a while if someone didn't stop it, Monica stepped in and changed the subject. "So, Pheebs, what time for dinner? Six? Seven?"

Phoebe seemed to forget all about Ross as the question was posed. "Six is good. Gives us more time for storytelling," she added, then gave a wave as she headed for the door, calling over her shoulder, "See'ya," as she left the coffeehouse.

"I'm not closed-minded," Ross grumbled, pouting in the distinct way he did when he felt he had been wronged.

When Rachel engaged him, Monica sighed and tuned them out. Turning towards Chandler, she asked quietly, "Do you believe her? Phoebe, I mean. That all that happened in a past life?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly, then asked in return, "Do you?"

Shrugging, she said, "Part of me kinda does, but, I don't know. If she had told us that story, and I hadn't just had that dream, I'd probably be as skeptical as Ross."

"No one is as skeptical as Ross," Chandler joked.

"True," she agreed with a smirk, then wondered aloud but in a whisper, "Do you think we got together in other past lives?"

"Don't know," he replied, then asked, "Does it really matter? I'm quite fond of our togetherness in **this** life," he added with a slight grin, bringing a similar expression to her face in response.

"I am, too," she admitted, then snuggled up against his side. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer and kissing her temple, then they watched without comment as Rachel and Ross continued their bickering.

Whether a glimpse into a past life, or merely a dream triggered by a drunken idiot's words… they probably would never know for sure. But one thing was for certain… Monica was at peace. Her current life was just where she wanted it.

**The end**

Author's Note:

I want to thank Exintaris for taking my odd modern-ish day dialog and making it old English dialog. I also want to thank him for all the work he has put into this fic, and for his beta work, and assistance in general.

Thank you also to Venused, for her beta work, inspiration, and support!

Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed! Now, I have gotten a few emails, and a post on my message board, asking me to post the original fic this was created from. If you would like to see the original, please review and let me know. This fic doesn't seem to be as well liked as others I have done, so, I need to know how many people actually want to see the original.

I have two new fics in concept, and I am still planning to continue 'The One With The Registry's Secrets'… just FYI.

Please review! And MTLBYAKY


	4. Original fic

_**The One With The Renaissance Faire**_

By: Jana~

Author's Note:

This is the original fic, off which the rewrite was based. I want to make something very clear… this version is historically inaccurate, which is why I, with Exintaris, rewrote it. Specifically, the buying and selling of women in the manner I have depicted. Also, the old English is just plain bad. The only exposure I've had to old English was at renaissance faires, which apparently is **not** altogether accurate.

Another thing I should mention is, initially, I rated this story 'NC-17', though I think it's actually closer to 'R'. If anyone feels that I should up the rating to 'R', please let me know, and I will do so.

And finally… I apologize for the excessive ellipses. Back when I first wrote this story, I used ellipses a lot. Don't ask why, it's a long story. Anyway… I could have changed it, but I chose not to, and decided to post it exactly as it was written.

This 'chapter' includes the original ren faire fic, and also the first chapter of the sequel.

**XXX**

--"Guess what guys!" Joey exclaimed as he bounded into Chandler and Monica's apartment, not waiting for their responses before continuing… "I got you all tickets for my new play!"

"Oh yeah? What's the play?" Phoebe asked…

"Macbeth!"

"Wow! Shakespeare! That's great!" Ross replied…

"At the Renaissance Faire…" Joey added…

"What?"

"It's a short version of it… they have little plays all over the Faire!"

"So, you got us tickets for…?" Chandler asked, his sentence trailing off…

"The Faire! It'll be great! You'll love it!"

"Oh, it will be great! I loved that era!" Phoebe exclaimed… "That was one of my best past lives!"

**XXX**

--"I can't believe we're doing this…" Rachel complained as they entered the Faire… "It's so dirty here…"

"Yeah, dirty dirt…" Chandler quipped… "Imagine that…"

"Guys, c'mon, we can do this…" Phoebe assured them… "We'd go to this if it was at some fancy theater!"

"Yeah…" "Ok…" "You're right…" They all reluctantly agreed…

"Guys! You made it!" Joey greeted them, approaching them in full costume…

Chandler chuckled, but suppressed it… "Nice dress man!" he joked, pointing at Joey's kilt…

"Dude, it's not a dress! It's a kilt! It's a manly, Scottish kilt!"

Suddenly, without warning, Phoebe reached under his kilt and cupped him…

"Whoa!" Joey jumped… "Phoebe!"

Phoebe smiled… "Just wanted to see if it's true what Scots DON'T wear beneath their kilt…"

"Well?" Monica asked… Phoebe just nodded and giggled…

Joey smiled and nodded… "Yeah baby!"

Ross looked appalled… "Joey! You're going 'commando'?"

"Hey! I'm a professional! They didn't have BVDs back during the renaissance, so I don't wear them while I'm in character!"

"So, you've been in character for this role since I've known you?" Chandler joked…

"Look, let's get past Joey's state of undress, shall we?" Ross interjected, changing the subject… "So, Joe, where do we go from here?"

"Oh! I got something for you guys! Come on!"

Joey led them to a little tent just before the entrance to the Faire… "This is Natalie…" he introduced his friends to the woman inside the tent… "Natalie, these are the friends I was telling you about!"

They all shook hands, then Joey continued…

"She's gonna set you up with costumes!"

"She's what?" "What?" "Costumes?" were everybody's responses…

"Yeah! It's great!"

"Joey?" Monica asked… "Why do we have to wear costumes?"

"You don't _have_ to! It's fun!"

Chandler shook his head… "I gotta say, not my definition of fun!"

"C'mon you guys! Everybody does it! The whole place looks like a town from back then!"

"Well, I'm in!" Phoebe agreed easily…

Slowly, the rest caved.

**XXX**

--When they emerged from the changing tent, they all had on very unique costumes…

"Awww…" Monica cooed… "Look how cute you look!" she told Chandler as she hugged him…

"Yeah, cute. I look like the joker on a deck of cards!"

"Not joker…" Phoebe corrected… "Jester."

"Whatever."

"So, what are you Pheebs?" Rachel asked…

"A gypsy! Although, that's not what I was in that life… but still… neat, huh?"

Everyone nodded…

"I think I'm supposed to be like royalty or something…" Rachel informed, holding her dress out from her body in display…

"I think I'm supposed to be a wench…" Monica added…

Then they all looked at Ross…

"Yes, yes…" he said very unenthusiastically… "I'm a pirate."

They all started laughing…

"But I refuse to wear the eye patch!" he added, which just made everyone laugh harder…

"Hey! You guys look great!" Joey announced as he entered the tent… "Isn't this great?"

Except for Phoebe, the responses were not enthusiastic…

"Joe, what happens now?" Chandler asked…

"Well, we get to hang at the Faire till I'm up!"

"And when are you 'up'?"

"I have a performance at 1 and 4. The rest of the time, we can just hang out!"

"Like this?" Ross asked, pointing at his costume…

"Yeah!"

"Is there beer here?"

Joey nodded… "Yeah…"

"Ok then…" Ross agreed…

**XXX**

--"Ok, there are no bathrooms!" Rachel complained as she joined up with everyone after searching for the restroom…

Joey held his hand up, gaining Rachel's attention… "They're over by the ale booth…" he informed… "Those blue building thingies? Porta-potties…"

"By the ale booth… how appropriate…" Chandler added…

"Yes, Joe, I saw those… but those are _not_ bathrooms, _those_ are disgusting!"

Just then an obviously drunk man approached the group… "Who is the owner of this fine wench?"

They all looked at each other for a moment, then looked at him with odd expressions…

"What?" Chandler asked…

The man pointed at Monica… "This fine wench! Who owns her?"

Chandler looked to Monica, then back to the man… "I guess that would be me?"

Monica smacked his arm lightly… "What?" she asked, her voice shrill… "You OWN me?"

Chandler shrugged and stammered uncomfortably…

"I will pay you 25pounds for this fine fiery wench!" the man announced…

"I'm not property you freak!"

"Hey! Chill lady! I'm just getting into character! They used to do that back in the RENAISSANCE! Get it? This is the RENAISSANCE FAIRE!" the man barked, then staggered away…

"He's right you know…" Phoebe interjected… "They did used to do that… buy and sell wenches…" she informed… "But 25pounds? That's way too much! My price was less than half of that when I was sold to this one nobleman… he had the ugliest teeth and he was just horrible in bed!"

They all just looked at Phoebe in disbelief for a moment before moving on…

"I couldn't do that…" Monica stated softly…

"Do what?" Rachel asked…

"Be sold like that! Bought like I was property! I just couldn't do it!"

"Well, when you don't have a choice…" Phoebe commented casually…

"Then it's a good thing slavery was abolished decades ago!" Chandler quipped… "What are you getting so worked up about?"

Monica rolled her eyes and shrugged… "Nothing… it's just… it's degrading! I mean, it must have been degrading. And to be sold to someone who mistreats you! To be in a loveless marriage…"

"Well, sure, that time sucked in comparison to now… what with no TV and all…" Joey reasoned…

"I'm sure there were some men who were nice to the women they bought…" Rachel added…

"But it's not the point!" Monica snapped… "There was still no choice for the woman! She didn't get to say 'No! I don't love you! Don't touch me!'… y'know?"

Chandler wrapped his arm around her and kissed her temple… "Sweetie, relax, ok? The times were different then. But you're here in this time…"

Monica saw the expressions on her friends' faces, realizing how she sounded… "Sorry, it's just… you know how you have like this one thing that's like a nightmare or whatever? And just the thought of that weirds you out?"

They all nodded hesitantly…

"Yeah, well, that's my thing. Being like a sex slave or something…"

That comment made Joey smile…

Monica smacked him… "Joey! That's not a good thing!"

"It is if she's willing!" he replied…

"THAT'S not being a sex slave!" Rachel interjected… "That's PLAYING sex slave!"

"Can we move past this now?" Ross asked… "Let's go get one of those great big turkey legs or something…"

Joey snapped his fingers… "Yeah! Those are great! And right next door they have these little renaissance style beef pies! Very authentic. Oh! And they have snowcones too!"

"Just like the knights used to enjoy before they went out to slay the dragon!" Chandler joked as they all headed for the food court.

**XXX**

--"Hey, Mon, that looks good!" Chandler looked over at her lunch… "Gimmee a bite…"

"Don't order me around!" Monica snipped back, causing Chandler to look at her with confusion…

"I wasn't… ordering you." He stated quietly… "I was asking you…"

"With a question, your tone goes up at the end. Your tone didn't go up at the end!"

Chandler blinked a few times before replying… "I'm sorry. How's this? Monica, that looks good! Give me a bite??" he repeated, emphasizing the tone at the end.

"Don't mock me!"

"Honey, I'm not mocking you. You're just… you're all caught up on what that guy said… and you're taking it out on me!"

"I'm sorry. You're right… it's just… it's a sore spot with me…"

"How come I never knew that about you?"

"I don't know… maybe cause I never expected you to want to buy or sell me?" she replied defensively…

"I would never want to sell you… I might wanna buy you… if I had the opportunity…"

"And what would you do with me once you… purchased me?"

"I would lavish you with love and attention…"

"Yeah, you say that… but, if you were really in that time period, and you could do anything with your newly-purchased wench…" she dropped the sentence there, looking at him for a reaction…

"I wouldn't abuse you, if that's what you're asking…"

"It's true…" Phoebe added as she overheard their conversation… "In his past life he was just as sweet as he is now!" she patted him on the head, then walked off…

**XXX**

--"Ok guys, be honest, what did you think of the play?" Joey asked after his 1 o'clock performance…

The group hemmed and hawed, trying to think of a tactful way to answer his question…

"Well, I liked it!" Rachel spoke up, deciding to avoid the truth…

"It was good…" Chandler informed… "But, I think you threw in too many 'th's…"

"That's the way they talked back then! They put 'th's on the end of everything!"

"Ok then!" Chandler relented on his point… "You did great then!"

"Yeah… you really did…" Monica added… "But, you sounded kinda… well… muffled."

"Oh! That's cause of the marbles!"

"Marbles?" Ross asked…

"What marbles?" Phoebe added…

"I put 3 marbles in my mouth… it helps me to talk like they did back then!"

Everyone looked at him in disbelief for a moment, then acknowledged him… "Ok!" "I get it!" "That's great!" "Good idea!"

Joey nodded emphatically… "I know! And now I can put 'Shakespearean actor' on my resume!"

**XXX**

--Chandler nodded right off to sleep, but Monica had some trouble… her mind was still on what had happened at the faire. She didn't know why it bothered her so much, but the idea of being sold like property… to be used and abused… it just grated on her… and was a bit frightening to comprehend. If she believed in past lives like Phoebe did, she might've thought she had been sold to some horrible man in a past life.

After a lot of tossing and turning, she finally dozed off…

**XXX**

--Jack and Judy Geller sounded upset to their daughter Monica. She couldn't really hear what was being said, but she could tell by their tone of voice. She knew they wouldn't want to involve her in the situation, whatever the situation was, so she tried to ignore them as she cooked. When their voices went quiet, they appeared a few minutes later…

"Daughter. I need to speak to you…" Jack stated softly…

Monica turned and gave him her full attention… "Aye Father."

"We have a problem, and the solution concerns you."

"Aye…"

"We are in debt. We haven't been able to pay our taxes, and, because we owe much in back taxes… well, if we turn you over to the King, he will forgive the debt. You are to be sold…"

"Sold?"

"Aye. Thou art to be sold to the highest bidder at auction…"

"Father!" Monica shrieked… "You can not do this!"

"I'm sorry, we have no choices." Her Father replied as her Mother cried softly in the corner of the room…

Monica burst into tears and ran from the house…

**XXX**

--Monica ran quickly to her friend's house, nearing hysteria…

"Monica? What is wrong?" Rachel Green, Monica's dear friend asked as her friend fell into her arms…

"I am to be given to the King… to be sold at auction!" Monica shrieked, sobbing…

"How can this be?"

"Mother and Father owe much in taxes! I am to be given in payment!"

"There is nothing to be done?" Rachel asked, tears falling… "I will never see you again?"

"Nothing can be done. Father already signed me over…"

"When do you depart?"

"Tomorrow."

Rachel gasped… "So soon?"

Monica nodded…

--She was handed over to the King the next day.

**XXX**

--Monica waited in the wagon along with the 12 other girls and women before the auction started… all of them were crying. Some were sobbing, some were crying silently, Monica was somewhere in between. She felt like her life was ending… she was about to be sold like she was property to a man that would have the legal right to do anything to her that he wanted. The very idea terrified her to her very core.

"Out of the wagon!" the auctioneer ordered, giving the rope they were all tied to a tug. Obediently, they complied, stepping out onto the staging area. The first girl was sold, she had to be dragged off the stage kicking and screaming. The second girl broke down sobbing when she was sold. The third wench was calm, but she seemed in shock. When Monica's turn came, she stood sadly, tears falling as the auctioneer started. She ignored everything, feeling detached from the situation… needing to feel detached from the situation. The auction was over in minutes, and as fast as she was sold, she was taken to her owner.

He was an older man, distinguished and obviously wealthy. He said nothing as he paid for her and took control of the rope, leading her away from the crowd. He helped her into his wagon, then they headed out of town.

--He didn't speak at all as they traveled… luckily, the trip was short. He helped her out of the wagon, then started untying the ropes…

"Should I remove thy ropes, thou will not flee, aye?" That was the first he'd spoken to her…

She nodded.

He finished untying her, then gestured for her to follow him.

"Chandler?" the man called out… "Come hither."

Within a minute, a young man appeared… "Aye?"

"This wench is to be your bride." The man informed… "I purchased her for you this day."

"Discussion of this has become tiresome. I wish to wed in love. I wish not for a loveless marriage."

"To find love, I bestowed upon thee time, but love you did not find. This wench thee shall wed. Speak together and learn of her."

With that he walked out of the room, leaving Monica and Chandler alone.

Monica stood silently, looking down, shaking from fear.

"Pray forgive me..." Chandler apologized… "Determined that I wed, my parents are, their wishes set in stone." He shrugged when she didn't reply… "Praytell m'lady, what be thy name?"

She remained silent. She didn't want to have a conversation with him… she didn't want to be there.

"Aye, I would not wish to speak to thee myself, were I you." Chandler sat down and gestured for her to join him. When she didn't sit down, he tried again… "Please sit with me."

Slowly, she sat down… as far from him as the small room allowed.

"I understand the distress thou must feel… for you to like me, I do not expect…"

She never said a word, but it didn't seem to upset him. He seemed nice, and he seemed patient… but she couldn't help being afraid of him. This was the man that would be allowed to control her completely. He could hurt her, use her, ravish her… all of which was his right. She had decided that she would do whatever her owner demanded of her, but nothing more.

**XXX**

--The wedding seemed surreal. She was asked if she wanted to take this man to be her lawfully wedded husband, but when she didn't answer, the receipt of sale showing she was owned was produced and her answer was not required. They were immediately sent to a room where they were to consummate their marriage, validating it.

--Monica fully expected Chandler to force himself on her, and the fear she felt threatened to consume her. She felt him staring at her, but she kept her eyes planted firmly on the floor…

"They will seek proof of our consummation…" he told her softly… "I do not ask for anything from you… but pray forgive me for what I am to do now."

He then climbed under the sheets, and she saw movement she didn't exactly understand. Discreetly, she watched him, his facial expressions were curious to her. He stopped moving and slowly opened his eyes, looking to her, panting…

"With a touch of thine own blood, the illusion is complete…"

He took his knife and made a small cut on his finger, dripping blood on the bed… then he swirled it around with another substance that Monica didn't recognize.

"To them, the marriage will appear valid…" he informed her… she didn't respond. "It more-so appears that I speak to thyself when thou doth not respond…" he sighed, muttering to himself… "Tatter thy clothing, to lead them to believe I took thee by force as my wife."

She was reluctant, but when he smiled and turned his back, she did as he asked. She cleared her throat when she was done, getting his attention. He turned back and looked her up and down…

"Your beauty still shines forth even in this disheveled state." He complimented her, then went to the door, opening it slowly and peeking out. He was immediately approached by his Father and a priest…

Monica kept her head hung low as the priest verified the validity of the marriage. He then turned to Chandler's father and nodded…

With that, they were allowed to leave.

**XXX**

--Months went by, and even though she did maintain the house and cook for him, she was far from wifely. He was always pleasant with her, he was never cross and he never lost his temper… he brought her roses, and beautiful candles of his own making, but still she did not speak to him.

Then one day, Chandler confronted the issue…

"Be aware, I understand your misery! Your feelings for me are clear… but as I try with effort to show you kindness, you only neglect me in return! I know not the sound of your voice!" He sighed, running his hands through his hair, then continued… "Am I to be thought an ogre or a cruel husband?" his voice was soft and not at all threatening… "Perchance to hear your voice in conversation… is this too much to ask of a wife?"

There was a long pause before she answered… "Nay…"

He looked up at her abruptly, and she immediately turned away…

"Pardon?" he asked, hoping she would repeat herself…

"Nay. What you ask of me is not unjust." she replied, her voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

He smiled… "Thank you." He stared at her for a moment before walking away.

She watched him leave, the slight tug on her heart made her smile without her knowing consent.

**XXX**

--Things improved slightly after that. She started speaking to him, but only when he asked questions. She never offered more than he asked for. At first the questions were simple… but as the weeks went by, they got more complex. Sometimes her answers would dodge the question, but usually she answered truthfully and straightforward.

--"Dearest wife? How did it come to pass that you should be sent to auction?"

She dutifully served his meal as she answered his question… "My parents owed a great debt. Taxes past due. I was given to the King to settle the debt."

"Were you of noble birth?"

"Aye."

"I thought as much. Your poise is that of noble breeding." He watched her as she busied herself with her kitchen duties… "Have you any siblings?"

"Aye. One brother. Ross."

"And, where might thy brother be?"

"In a town not far from my parent's house. He married before I came to be with you."

He nodded… "Had you any friends?"

"Aye. Rachel Green."

"Green? Daughter of Leonard and Sandra Green?"

"Aye."

"A very noble family."

She just shrugged.

"Have you ever been in love?"

"Nay."

"Shakespeare speaks of a love so grand… I wonder if such a love exists…"

Monica looked up abruptly at him, the look on her face showing great interest in that comment…

"You like Shakespeare?" he asked…

"Aye."

"Which of his works does thou like?"

"Romeo and Juliet."

He smiled at her… "Verily, a poignant love story."

She nodded. Her eyes never leaving his…

"So, you can read?"

"Aye."

"I shall get thee books then."

She smiled, her eyes dancing with excitement… "Thank you."

He nodded… "You have a beautiful smile."

She looked away shyly, dropping the smile… "Thank you, Sir."

"Pray dearest wife, address me as Chandler."

She only nodded in response.

**XXX**

--A few days later…

"Dearest wife, I have news of great surprise for thee…" Chandler informed as he entered the kitchen where she was cooking…

"What news does thou bring?" she asked…

"We are to be taking a trip."

"A trip to where?"

"To the house of your parents!"

Her smile grew wide and she threw his arms around him… "Thank you Sir! Thank you!"

"Chandler." He corrected her… "Monica, address me as Chandler."

She nodded as she pulled away sheepishly…

**XXX**

--The ride to her parents house took several hours, but the trip was far from tedious. They discussed Shakespeare's works, they talked about her family, and her enthusiasm for both was obvious.

When they arrived at her parent's house, Chandler helped her off the wagon, then she was gone in a flash, running towards the house. Jack and Judy were surprised to see their daughter, only hearing rumors of what family she had married into.

"Mother! Father!" Monica yelled as she threw her arms around her parents… "I have missed thee so very much!"

"Monica! We thought we were to never see you again!" Ross, her brother exclaimed as he joined them in the hug… "Are you well?"

She started to cry, but not out of fear or sadness… "Aye. I am well…"

Just then her parents and brother's attention went to Chandler, looking just slightly worried till he smiled warmly and extended his hand to her father…

"Chandler Bing… Monica's husband."

Jack shook his hand, then looked to Ross…

Ross then extended his hand, shaking hands with Chandler… "Pardon me!" he apologized, gesturing to the woman standing beside him… "May I present Carol Geller. My wife."

Hugs and handshakes went all around, then silence fell.

"I shall go and announce your arrival to Rachel…" Ross told Monica, motioning in the direction of the Green residence…

**XXX**

--"So…" Rachel started, once her and Monica were alone… "Tell me of Chandler…"

"Chandler is a kind husband…"

"Is he truly? This makes my heart glad, for I was worried about you…"

"Were thee truly?"

"Aye! There was fear in my mind that a troll of a man would purchase you!"

"Fear was also in my mind that such a thing would happen."

"Tell me truthfully of your marital consummation."

Monica wanted to tell her the truth, but if it ever got out that her marriage to Chandler was not valid by the act of consummation, she could be taken from him. She felt she had to hide the truth… "Ladies do not speak of such things." She dodged the question… "And when will be your wedding day?"

"I was arranged to Barry Finkle, but he was killed." Rachel informed…

"My sympathies to you!"

"Thank you. All is not lost, for I am to be wed in little time from this day, to Joseph Tribiani!"

"His name I have not heard."

"He is a wealthy and known in the arts. And verily handsome…" Rachel giggled…

"Tis good news then!"

"With certainty!" Rachel agreed… "Now, praytell to me, was it frightening on the auction block?"

Monica didn't find out till later, but Chandler had approached unnoticed and overheard Rachel's question… then listened in on the answer…

"Aye. Truly. All to be auctioned were crying… as was I. It was all very distressing… and humiliating…"

"Monica?" Chandler made his presence known… "Your Mother would like for you to be present in her kitchen…"

Monica immediately stood and moved quickly to the kitchen…

**XXX**

--They ate before they left, and Monica cried as she said goodbye to her family and friend…

"I will miss you all…" she whimpered, wiping her eyes…

"Mayhaps we will be able to return for a visit." Chandler responded, putting his arm around her…

She nodded, and they climbed up into the wagon… she waved as they pulled away…

**XXX**

--"Did you enjoy your visit?" he asked after a long hour of silence…

"Aye." She replied in a whisper…

"Yet you are sad…"

"Nay…"

"Monica, your eyes show sadness as does your voice…" he asserted…

"My apologies, Sir…"

"Apologies be not needed… for I understand your mind." he soothed… "My apologies to you, for the sadness you suffer…"

"Pardon?"

"I overheard you speaking to your friend."

She remained quiet, too nervous to respond…

"You need not worry, I am not cross…" he assured her… "I am glad to have you as my wife… but I am with sorrow that you came to be whilst under such duress."

"Thank you ss--" she started to say 'sir', but she stopped herself… "Thank you Chandler."

He smiled sweetly… "Thou art welcome."

**XXX**

--As time progressed, Monica opened up more and more to Chandler, slowly realizing that he was a good, kind man with no intention of hurting her. They read books together and spent time together, but even with as close as they were getting, the marriage remained unconsummated. The rumors were starting to spread that she was unable to give Chandler a child, and when the news traveled to his father's ears, his father paid Chandler and Monica a visit… with a midwife…

"This be Phoebe Buffay, a midwife in good standing…" Chandler's father informed… "She is to examine your wife to check for pregnancy."

Monica looked worriedly to Chandler before walking with the midwife into hers and Chandler's bedroom…

--"This will not hurt…" Phoebe assured Monica, then instructed her into the position she needed her to be in.

She was wrong, the exam did hurt, but Monica guessed it was because she had not yet had sex with Chandler… or anyone…

"M'lady, you are not pregnant…" Phoebe informed… "And, this marriage be not valid."

The look that crossed Monica's face was that of sheer terror, and Phoebe smiled in return…

"You need not worry. I have not the intention of informing your husband's Father of this."

"Pardon?"

"I understand the position thou has been placed in. If your husband has put forth effort to conceal this fact, I will not intrude."

"Thank you."

"Nay, gratitude be not needed…"

--"Why is she not yet with child?" Charles asked his son, sounding cross… Phoebe just looked on…

"I know not." Chandler lied…

"If she is barren, you are to petition for a divorce, so that thou may wed a lady capable of giving you a child."

"Nay, Father, I do not wish for a different wife. This wife is fine…" He hesitated before continuing… "She is dutiful and enjoyable… she will be with child soon enough…" He promised…

"Your wishes I will respect, but 'soon' better be just that, or I will beseech upon thee to consider taking a new wife!"

He left like he came, in a huff, with Phoebe following behind… and Monica looked at Chandler with teary eyes…

"Monica, you need not worry…" he consoled her… "I have not the desire to force you to lay with me…"

"I know…" she whispered… "My tears do not fall from fear of you…"

"Then, why do your tears fall?" he asked compassionately…

"My fear is that I am to be taken from you." She confided… "The midwife knew…"

"Knew of what?"

"That we have not been together as husband and wife."

"Why did she not speak of this?"

She shrugged… "To respect your wishes…" she summed it up simply… "What if she speaks of this to your Father? He will take me from you!"

"With my word of honor I promise you now… you will not be taken from me."

**XXX**

--As the days came and went, Monica became increasingly worried that Chandler's father would take her away from him. As much as she hated being owned like property, she was also smart enough to know that she could have worse owners. Chandler was kind and sweet and patient. If she were taken from him, she could be sold to a horrible man who might abuse her. The idea terrified her.

--"I see sadness in your eyes this day…" Chandler observed… "What is wrong?"

"Nothing." Monica replied quietly…

"Tell me please."

Against her will, tears started to fall, and she wiped at them, hoping he wouldn't see… but he did…

He got up and walked to her… "Mon? Pray tell, why art thou sad? Speak of your sorrow so that I may help thee…" he pleaded…

"I am afraid." She whispered…

"Afraid of what?"

"I have fear of being taken from thee and sold as a slave."

"I spoke to you, my promise true… you will remain my wife. Have trust in me."

"I trust thee… but, if I do not become with child, your Father spoke of--"

"My Father speaks of a lot of things. You need not worry."

She looked up at him and gulped the air, partially out of breath from crying, partially because of a reason she didn't quite comprehend… "Why does thou keep me?"

"Pardon?"

"With this marriage not valid, you could purchase a new wife… a wife that will… 'be with you', yet, you keep me. Why?"

"I like you." He smiled… "You are beautiful and dutiful and--"

"Enjoyable?" she interrupted…

His smile dropped, but returned a moment later… "Aye. I enjoy your company. Is that so bad?"

"Nay. I think it not bad. I too enjoy your company."

"Good." He touched her face, lightly brushing her cheek with his thumb… "I will not speak a falsehood, my hope is that one day we will validate this marriage…" he smiled when she started to tremble… "But I will not force you. When thou art ready, I will be also." He kissed his finger, then touched his finger to her lips, smiling. Without saying anything further, he walked away.

She felt something in that moment… what that something was, she wasn't sure. Her heart was beating fast, and she felt an odd sensation rush through her. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and went back to tending to the chores.

**XXX**

--Days had passed since Chandler and Monica's conversation… the conversation that left her shaking, her mind reeling with thoughts that confused her…

"Mon? My shirt is in need of mending…" he called to her, appearing a moment later with shirt in hand.

She looked up to see Chandler looking over his shirt, wearing nothing but his trousers. Her heart leapt, and she involuntarily gasped at the sight of him. She had seen him shirtless at least a dozen times… why now was she affected this way?

He looked up at her, an expression of concern on his face… "Is something wrong?"

She bowed her head… "Nay."

His expression changed to that of curiosity… "If thou art certain…" he told her, holding his shirt out for her to take… "The rip is here…" he added, pointing it out.

"I will tend to it with haste." she replied, taking the shirt.

--She could sense him watching her, and knowing he was made her fidget nervously.

"You are certain that all is well?" he asked again…

She wanted him to stop asking her that. She wasn't 'ok', she was property. He owned her… he didn't care about her… she was just his belonging. She refused to like him. She tried to force herself to feel anger for him, but it wasn't working. She had a very determined look on her face as she finished her task…

"Done." She stated simply, handing him the shirt…

"Thank you." He replied, reaching for his newly mended shirt… but when their hands touched…

She startled at the contact, and her eyes flew to find his, staring into the blue depths.

"Dearest?" he questioned her expression, his voice full of compassion…

She didn't know what made her do it, but she reached out and touched his chest. His eyes closed and he swooned slightly, widening his stance to keep from falling.

Sensations bombarded her… she didn't know what to do… what to say… she felt lost.

He opened his eyes and searched hers for a moment, then slowly leaned in, touching his lips to hers.

In that moment, all fear and frustration left her mind. She threw her arms around his neck and melted into his kiss.

He pulled back and looked at her, her eyes showing a myriad of emotions…

"You lead Monica…" he whispered… "Whatever we do, it is your decision…"

She wasn't sure what she wanted to do, but she knew she wanted to touch him, and have him touch her. She quickly worked the ties on her bodice… he just watched her as she removed her clothing, her eyes rarely leaving his. When she had removed every stitch of clothing, she wrapped her arms around his neck once more and initiated their second kiss.

"I want you as I am…" she whispered as he kissed her neck… "Without clothes…"

He gently pulled away and removed his trousers, then returned to her embrace.

"Speak to me of what you desire…" he whispered in her ear as he kissed it…

"I know not for certain… just touch me…"

He ran his hands over her body, touching her everywhere… she felt intoxicated. She never wanted the feeling to end…

"I must hear it from your lips, Monica… I will not force you…"

She gathered her courage, taking a deep breath before answering… "Take me as your wife." she whispered…

**XXX**

--Monica woke abruptly to the feelings of being caressed. She sat up and looked around in confusion…

"I'm sorry…" Chandler apologized… "I couldn't help but touch you…"

She looked around their room, then back at Chandler… "I just had the strangest dream!"

"Yeah?" he asked as he sat up with her… "What about?"

"We lived back in the renaissance time… and Mom and Dad owed all these taxes, so they gave me to the King to sell… to pay their debt. And then the king had me sold…" she smiled before continuing… "And guess who bought me?"

Chandler couldn't help but smile… "Hmmm… let's see… Joey?"

She glared jokingly… "No!"

"Me?" he asked as he started kissing her neck…

"Yep. And they made me marry you…"

"Made you, huh?"

"Yeah. And I was so determined to hate you, I didn't realize I was falling in love with you…"

"And I of course fell in love with you…"

"Yep. And we just kept getting closer and closer… till finally…" she trailed off, deep in thought…

"Till finally…?"

"We didn't consummated the marriage… and you said you wouldn't force me to… and you didn't! But when the time came, you said that I had to lead…"

"Mmmm…" he hummed, a wide smile on his face… "And…?"

"And… I did…"

"Then…?"

"Then… I woke up."

He chuckled… "Bummer!"

"Yeah. It was turning into a nice little moment…"

"Well, if you want, I could help you… recreate it…" he purred as he started kissing her again…

"It had to be cause of all that stuff at the Faire… about buying wenches…"

"Yeah… that would be my guess…"

**XXX**

--"It had to be cause of what that drunk guy said to me at the Faire…" Monica summed up her dream to everyone as they kicked back at Central Perk…

"Ever notice how drunk guys seem to always say something to set you off?" Joey asked, referring to the drunk guy who mistook Monica for Ross' mom in London…

Monica threw him a look before continuing… "It was just a really weird dream! And everyone was in it! You were there…" she pointed at Chandler… "And you were there…" she pointed at Rachel… "And you were there…" she pointed at Ross…

"Yes, Dorothy, but you're back in Kansas now with your little dog Toto…" Chandler quipped, getting glared at by Monica…

"Ha, ha. I'm just saying… it was unlike any other dream I've ever had!"

"That's cause it wasn't exactly a dream…" Phoebe interjected, causing everyone to turn and look at her… "It was more…" she clarified… "It was a glimpse into your past life…"

"What?"

"Yeah! Well, it was partially colored by your knowledge of this life… and the names weren't right. But, basically, that's pretty much what happened to you in that life."

"Phoebe…" Ross inquired… "How do you know that?"

"Duh! Cause I was there!"

"Phoebe… are you trying to say we've known each other in past lives?" Monica asked…

"Yeah. Our paths have actually crossed a few times!" she announced… "Well, except for Joey…" she added… "He's new."

"Well, ok, so what other stories can you tell us? What other time eras have we been in?" Rachel asked…

"Oh, well, that would take way too long…" Phoebe stated… "We'll save those stories for another time…"

**To be continued…**

_**The One With All The Past Lives**_

_Chapter One…_

_Renaissance Era_

By: Jana~

**XXX**

--"It had to be cause of what that drunk guy said to me at the Faire…" Monica summed up her dream to everyone as they kicked back at Central Perk…

"Ever notice how drunk guys seem to always say something to set you off?" Joey asked, referring to the drunk guy who mistook Monica for Ross' mom in London…

Monica threw him a look before continuing… "It was just a really weird dream! And everyone was in it! You were there…" she pointed at Chandler… "And you were there…" she pointed at Rachel… "And you were there…" she pointed at Ross…

"Yes, Dorothy, but you're back in Kansas now with your little dog Toto…" Chandler quipped, getting glared at by Monica…

"Ha, ha. I'm just saying… it was unlike any other dream I've ever had!"

"That's cause it wasn't exactly a dream…" Phoebe interjected, causing everyone to turn and look at her… "It was more…" she clarified… "It was a glimpse into your past life…"

"What?"

"Yeah! Well, it was partially colored by your knowledge of this life… and the names weren't right. But, basically, that's pretty much what happened to you in that life."

"Phoebe…" Ross inquired… "How do you know that?"

"Duh! Cause I was there!"

"Phoebe… are you trying to say we've known each other in past lives?" Monica asked…

"Yeah. Our paths have actually crossed a few times!" she announced… "Well, except for Joey…" she added… "He's new."

"Well, ok, so what other stories can you tell us? What other time eras have we been in?" Rachel asked…

"Oh, well, that would take way too long…" Phoebe stated… "We'll save those stories for another time…"

"Well… ok, then, tell us more about Monica's dream!" Rachel requested… "What happened after she told Chandler to take her as his wife?"

Ross scoffed… "She couldn't possibly know what happened next…"

"Oh, on the contrary Mr. Doubty-Pants! I do know what happened next!" Phoebe exclaimed, preparing to fill in the rest of the tale…

**XXX**

--She gathered her courage, taking a deep breath before answering… "Take me as your wife." she whispered…

Chandler smiled and scooped her into his arms, carrying her to their bedchamber. He laid her gently on the bed, lying beside her a moment later. He kissed her neck and shoulder, down her arm, across to her breast. He had never been with a woman before, but somehow instinct took over, and he found himself touching and kissing his beautiful wife in ways that made her moan and sigh with pleasure. The sounds she made were intoxicating, like he'd had several pints of ale coursing through his body. He adored her with his hands and lips, brushing both softly across her trembling body…

"Thou art trembling…" he whispered…

"Aye, but not from fear." She replied, a slight smile crossing her lips.

He smiled in return and leaned forward, kissing her lips softly at first, but then passion took over, and his kisses became more fervent. His kisses trailed lower till he reached one of her taut nipples, licking it, encircling it with his tongue before drawing it into his mouth. That action caused a very remarkable reaction in Monica that Chandler quickly responded to, his head spinning. He quickly crossed to the other breast… the other nipple… giving it equal treatment.

"My head spins as if drunk on ale…" Chandler informed softly…

"As does mine…" she admitted. "Thy hands touch me in fantastic ways…"

"Thy existence has touched me in fantastic ways." He leaned in to kiss her lips again… whispering against them: "Place thy hands upon me."

"I know not how."

He took her hand gently in his as he broke their kiss… "May I?" he asked, holding her hand up and kissing the knuckles gently…

She nodded… and he smiled as he took her hand and placed it around his erection. Her hand on him caused his eyes to snap shut as a soft moan escaped his lips… she shuddered at his reaction. Trembling with desire, he slowly moved his hand with hers, instructing her movements, then he removed his hand. He watched as she brought him closer and closer to the brink, knowing it wouldn't be much longer. Aware that she probably had no clue as to what was about to happen, he decided to warn her…

"Monica… I am nearing conclusion." He whispered hoarsely… "Do you understand what that means?"

She just looked at him blankly, and her expression told him she didn't.

"I should have readied you…" he whispered, grabbing for the sheets to cover himself. The action caused Monica to stop, but he shook his head… "Do not stop."

She continued as she had before, watching him closely…

"I do not want for what is about to happen to scare you…" he told her gently… "Continue till I ask of thee to stop…" he instructed… "Later, I shall explain…"

She nodded timidly. When his orgasm hit, he shuddered and moaned softly, his facial expression odd. Monica felt her hand becoming wet and taken aback, she started to slow her movements…

"Please…" he whispered to her… "Do not stop."

She picked up the pace till he asked her to stop, then she removed her hand from underneath the sheets and looked at it.

"Pray forgive me…" he apologized… "For I should have warned thee." He took her hand and wiped it with the sheet… "My eagerness did cloud my mind." He smiled at her and kissed her lips softly before pulling her to him, holding her tightly… "Tell me so that I might know… what do you know of consummation?"

"My knowledge is slight…" she admitted… "Rachel, however, has shared some of her wisdom…"

"What lore has she shared?"

She suddenly became very embarrassed and remained silent. He could tell she was nervous about explaining what she knew, so he took the conversation forward…

"How do I explain of such things…" he mumbled aloud… "During consummation… a certain conclusion a man does reach. Within thy body upon such conclusion, a baby might be created. If not within you… a mess be the consequence." He chuckled slightly when she chuckled… then after a few moments pause, he kissed her temple… "Be thee fair?"

"Aye." She whispered… "However…" she trailed off…

"However… ??" he encouraged her to finish her thought…

"Well, this marriage still be not valid… aye?"

"Aye. Tis true."

"So, now what is to happen?"

"I wanted to be… satiated… before…" he hesitated as he thought about how to phrase his thoughts… "Did thy friend happen to tell thee… if still a virgin, consummation… can be… painful?"

She nodded against his chest…

"I wanted my desires to be quenched somewhat before our union… so as not to hurt you. Please know…" he clarified… "I do not wish to hurt thee. However, with an appetite so strong, my will might be weak." When she didn't respond, he held her tighter… "Have you changed your mind?"

"Nay." Her voice trembled, and he knew she was now afraid. He'd waited too long… her desire faded as he recovered, and fear entered her mind in its place.

"Be not afraid, for I will not force thee. If thy heart has changed, then I shall not take thee as my wife. However, know this… I do not wish to cause you pain. I cannot make a promise of no pain… still, I can promise gentle love and true affection."

"I want to be with you as a wife should be." She replied softly…

"Be not with me as my wife because you think you _should_…" he told her… "Be with me only if desire does dwell within your heart."

"Tis desire that dwells within my heart…" she whispered… "And within my body as well…"

He turned and propped himself up on his elbow, looking kindly into her frightened eyes before leaning forward and kissing her softly. As he felt her respond, he deepened the kiss. He ran his hand slowly across her perfect form, bringing her hunger back to the surface of her mind and body. With delicate pressure he rolled her responding nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then moved to the other taut nipple, playing with it as well before taking it into his mouth. He kissed and teased her with his mouth and tongue… with his hands and fingers, her moans of pleasure affecting him greatly. When he felt she was ready for him, he gently parted her legs and positioned himself between them. He rubbed her thighs, moving in circular motions with his thumbs across her skin… closer and closer to her pudendum. She gasped a little every time he seemed to get closer, then he'd pull away a little before advancing further. He was teasing her. The more he teased, the more she wanted him. The more she wanted him, the less it would hurt. When his thumb reached her clitoris, she nearly bolted upright at the sensation…

"Ssshhh…" he hushed her… "Tis fine. Relax."

He continued manipulating the ultra-sensitive area, bringing her nearly to the brink, then he slowed his movements greatly. With his index finger he touched her opening, then slowly slipped it inside. She reacted favorably, so he moved his finger around inside her, allowing her body to adjust to the sensation before his middle finger joined his index. After feeling her moisture and sensing she was ready, he removed his fingers and positioned himself at her opening, leaning forward to kiss her lips softly…

"I love thee Monica." He whispered, then slowly started to enter her. She gasped and her body tensed, so he stopped all movement with the exception of his thumb on her clit. When he felt her relax, he pushed forward again cautiously, watching her face for signs of discomfort. When his further advance was impeded by her hymen, he gathered her into his arms and held her tight to him. He knew he would have to thrust to break through, and he knew it would hurt her to do so. Guiltily, he apologized for his upcoming actions…

"I am so sorry…" he whispered in her ear as he kissed it gingerly… "Forgiveness I pray…"

Without giving her a chance to respond, he thrust forward, breaking through her barrier. She gasped and winced and tried to pull away, but he held her tight…

"I am sorry, Monica… I am so sorry. Please, forgive me…" He begged in a whisper, ceasing all motion so as to cause her no further discomfort. "Please, do not pull from my arms, for my actions were necessary. Let me love thee. Let me soothe thy pain."

She stopped squirming as she regained her breath, allowing his arms to hold her and comfort her. Soon, she was holding him back with desperate need, needing to feel him as close to her as possible.

"I love thee…" he repeated several times as he kissed her face and lips… "Relax…" he instructed… "Trust me…"

She tried to relax, but it was hard. Slowly, his hand drifted down between them and he was rubbing her again, bringing warm tingly feelings to replace the pain. When he felt her relax, he began moving slowly within her. A few odd facial expressions told of how the pain was still subsiding, but soon she was only showing signs of pleasure and enjoyment. His pace quickened as their urges swelled, and soon she was overcome with the most amazing sensation she'd ever experienced. She moaned as her body shook with release, and just seeing her reaction brought about Chandler's release a moment later.

He slowed to a stop, then rolled off her and gathered her in his arms, kissing her hair lovingly… "Pray forgive me for the pain I did cause thee." He apologized again… "Strong was thy barrier."

"I forgive thee…" she whispered… "For the pain was brief…" she trailed off…

"Was it pleasurable for you?"

"Verily. I never knew such a feeling to exist."

"Nor did I." He admitted.

She pulled back to look at him… "On our wedding night…" she questioned him… "You did to yourself what I did this day… aye?"

"Aye. Tis true… I did. Only, the feeling of my hand in comparison to your hand… your body… be there greatly a difference."

"Will there be pain for me each time we join?"

"Nay. The first time only…"

"Will there be pleasure each time?"

He smiled… "Aye. Tis my duty as husband to please thee…"

"Tis my duty as thy wife to please thee..." She smiled back… "To cook, and sew, and mend, and bear children…"

"Aye. And tis I who does bring thee food to cook, and cloth with which to sew, and pleasure as we join to create a life…" he retorted, kissing her with great affection.

"Mayhaps our union this day will bring forth to us a child."

"Mayhaps." He agreed… "If not, then there be a chance next morrow." He smirked suggestively…

"And the morrow thereafter." She added…

"Aye." He kissed her temple… "I love thee, Monica."

"I love thee, Chandler."

His expression showed surprise… "That is the first time you have spoken those words to me."

She smiled shyly and looked away… "May I be honest with thee?"

"Always…"

"I did not want to love thee. Nor did I even want to like thee."

"Why?"

"Because, you own me…" she whispered nervously…

"Dearest… I only own thee on parchment. To think of you as property, I do not. I do not wish for thee to feel as property."

"Not always do I feel as such. Sometimes, however, I remind thyself… then sadness fills me greatly. My wish was to hate thee, but hate thee I could not. You have never given me reason…"

"I could never treat thee poorly…"

"And you never have. You have always treated me verily well… still, I wanted to hate thee."

"You had good reason to hate me… still, be aware, I am sorry for the pain within thy heart…"

"Such pain within my heart exists no longer. How I came to be as thy wife I would not wish on friend nor enemy... twas a greatly humiliating experience. However, twas fate that brought me to auction, I do believe."

"I believe it to be fate as well."

"When did you know that it was love in your heart?"

"At the moment my eyes fell upon thee, and my heart beat faster, I knew I did care deeply. Then, at the moment my ears heard thy voice firstly, that be when I knew for certain."

"I knew for certain the day you took me to the house of my parents. Such a kind thing, you need not have done."

"I wanted to. I wanted to make thee happy…"

"You did… you do still. I never thought such a love would find me…"

"The grand and perfect love Shakespeare does speak about."

"Aye. Proof of such a love dwells within my heart."

"In thine own heart as well." He sat up and kissed her lips… "Pray forgive me, for I must go. There be much work to attend to."

"Aye. And for me as well."

"However, dearest wife, I will return home with haste… home to be in thy arms."

She smiled at his words and he kissed her one last time before leaving the bed and dressing to leave.

**XXX**

--Six weeks later, Chandler sent for his father and midwife, the possibility of Monica being pregnant apparent one week prior.

"You have summoned me, with request that I bring with me the midwife in good standing…" his father announced as he entered their house… "Mayhaps thy wife is now with child?"

"Aye Father, tis verily possible." Chandler replied, his smile wide.

Monica grasped his hand and he squeezed gently in support…

"Come along m'lady…" the midwife instructed… "The exam shan't take long."

--Quietly Phoebe examined Monica, a slight smile following the conclusion…

"Well?" Monica asked anxiously… "Am I with child?"

"This news I must first tell thy husband…" she explained… "Then he may tell thee in his time." Then she smiled and gathered her belongings… "Wait here m'lady."

--Chandler paced as his father prattled on about Monica giving him a grandson… and when Phoebe entered the main room, Chandler stopped dead in his tracks…

"Well?" he asked nervously…

"M'lord… thy wife is with child."

Chandler jumped at the news, hugging his father before realizing his father was not an affectionate man…

"Forgive me…" he told him simply, then turned to Phoebe… "Where is my wife?"

"Waiting for thee m'lord." She pointed at the bedroom.

Chandler rushed in, the sound of the door causing Monica to spin around…

"Well?" she asked as he slowly approached…

He nodded and scooped her into his arms… "Thou art with child!" He spun around with her several turns before setting her back on her feet and kissing her sweetly… "Be thee as happy as I?"

"Verily! And more so I think! A little life grows within me… the result of our love…"

"Monica… I love thee more than my meager words could convey."

"It is those words of which you call meager that verily express thy kind and true love."

Chandler sighed… "I know not of what I did to please God, for my blessings be great!"

"Aye. My mind does have similar thoughts…"

**XXX**

"Then what happened?" Rachel asked Phoebe as all the gang sat around leisurely at Central Perk…

"She had a son…" Phoebe informed… "And 3 others after that. One died in infancy… one died in battle when he was 23… I think."

"How could you possibly know all this?" Ross asked skeptically… "Even if you _were_ there… how could you know so many _intimate_ details?"

"I was her midwife for all 4 of her pregnancies. We became friends. Friends share details." Phoebe smirked as she sipped her tea…

"What happened to them? Chandler and Monica?" Joey asked, engrossed in the story…

"They were happily married till Chandler died… I think he was in his 60s. Monica never remarried. Died of a broken heart 2 years later…"

"Wow." Monica sighed… "Even if that's _not_ true… what a great story!"

"Oh, it's true!" Phoebe assured…

"Well, tell us another story about our past lives!" Joey requested eagerly…

"Ok… but later. Tonight… at dinner…"

"I'll cook!" Monica interjected…

"Oooo… great!" Rachel chirped excitedly… "I'll bring the wine!"

"We have to bring stuff?" Joey whined…

Chandler patted his shoulder and shook his head… "No, Joe, you don't have to bring anything."

Monica looked at her watch… "Ok, so, tonight at what? Say… six?"

"Sounds good…" and other various replies followed as they got up and headed out the door…

**To be continued?**

Author's Note:

There was another chapter after this one, that takes place in the latter 1800's… if people are interested, I can post it as well.

Please review! And MTLBYAKY


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